


Comin' Home

by TheTetrarch



Series: The Wapanjara Chronicles [2]
Category: Leverage
Genre: Eliot Spencer Whump, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, original animal characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2019-12-06 20:10:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 78,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18224858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTetrarch/pseuds/TheTetrarch
Summary: Set immediately after the events of ‘The Rundown Job.’Shot and wounded after the team’s encounter with Dr Everett Udall in Washington DC, Eliot decides to return to the only place on earth he feels safe … he heads home to Wapanjara.





	1. We Are The Quiet Daybreak

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t often do stories inspired by a song, but I couldn’t help myself with this one. Honestbee suggested I listen to Keith Urban’s ‘Coming Home’. When I did, I just had to write this. You can find the song on Youtube.
> 
> Chapter titles are from the works of iconic poet Oodgeroo Noonuccal of the Noonuccal people of North Stradbroke Island, Queensland.
> 
> And yes, there really is a small town called Elliott north of Tennant Creek, right on the Stuart Highway heading to Darwin.

** Darwin, Australia – late September, 2012 **

On the face of it, Eliot thought, perhaps this wasn’t the brightest idea he’d had for a while. _No_ , he decided, this definitely _was_ the _dumbest_ friggin’ idea he’d had in years, as he limped haltingly towards the check-point, set discreetly into the high-security perimeter fence surrounding Robertson Barracks*, located some kilometres outside of Darwin, Australia.

“You sure about this?” Mike Vance asked as he walked beside Eliot in the humid air, slowing his pace to keep the shorter man company. “I mean … I could –“

“Nope,” Eliot said abruptly, a little testier than he would have liked, but _damn_ , a bullet hole _right through_ his right shoulder and what was left of a bullet still lodged deep in his left leg would make anyone antsy. “I got it covered. I’ll be fine.”

And as he said it, a jolt of pain shot up his leg to his head and the familiar black spots of impending unconsciousness swam into his vision for a moment before he got a grip on everything. Eliot was immensely glad it was the blue hour beyond sunset, and hopefully Vance couldn’t see how much he was shivering despite the heat of the oncoming monsoon season.

He carried a backpack over his left shoulder, which did help a little in keeping him balanced, but mostly he was just concentrating on staying upright and not appearing to be in too much pain as he did it. He thought he wasn’t doing too bad a job.

 _He could do this_.

Vance eyed Eliot, concern on his mobile face. Eliot Spencer wasn’t just an ex-black-ops legend. He was a _friend_.

“You look like shit,” he muttered quietly as they reached the check-point. “Let me call someone –“

“Mike – leave it be, will ya?” Eliot ground out as the two marines manning the entrance checked Eliot out as he gimped past them, heading through the gap between the heavy swinging arm barrier and the guard post.

Vance eyed the marines, one of whom frowned and took a step forward to stop Eliot.

‘Ten- _hut!_ ” Vance growled, and both men instantly stiffened to attention. “You don’t touch him, marine,” he said to the nearest of the two men, “if you do, I’ll bust you so hard you’ll be cleanin’ out my old cesspit with a teaspoon until you retire, y’hear me?”

Both marines eyed Eliot, who grinned unrepentantly at them despite the paleness of his face and the glaze of impending fever in his blue eyes. Then they glanced at Vance - the formidable, bad-tempered, soldier-who-did-secret-stuff-under-the-radar Colonel Mike Vance and a legend in his own right.

They stiffened even more, and gazed fixedly into the distance. Eliot Spencer, as far as they were now concerned, didn’t exist.

“ _Sir! Yes sir!_ ” they both snapped out. Colonel Mike Vance didn’t make empty threats.

“Gotta go, Mike,” Eliot said quietly.

Vance looked off-kilter for once.

“Yeah … well … you take care. Keep in touch, dumb-ass,” he added, a little of his concern leaking out in the softly-spoken words. He didn’t offer a hand for Eliot to shake because he was pretty sure Eliot wasn’t able to return it.

Eliot, secretly grateful for Vance’s understanding, nodded once in thanks and gave his ex-commander a wry smile.

“Say hi to Marie an’ –“ he murmured before Vance cut him off.

“-the kids, yeah, I got it,” Vance growled. “Listen, Spencer – if you die, Marie is gonna be _so pissed –_ “

Eliot shook his head and _damn_ , but that was a frikkin’ _stupid_ thing to do, because it made his head swim alarmingly.

“Ain’t gonna happen, Mike, okay?” Eliot straightened as well as he could and gave Mike Vance an informal farewell salute with two fingers of his left hand. “I’ll be in touch.”

And without waiting for a reply, Eliot turned away and limped painfully into the coming gloom, crossing the road and melting away into the shadow of a mixed stand of stringybark and kurrajong trees far from the bright lights of the security fence.

“Asshole,” Vance muttered with crotchety affection. He caught one of the marines eyeing him curiously. “What the hell’re you lookin’ at??” he grouched, and the marine blinked, embarrassed, and managed somehow to stiffen even further to attention.

And without another word, Mike Vance headed grumpily back to the warmth and brightness of the small base canteen, where he would sit and have some cherry pie and a coffee, and rant inwardly at Eliot Spencer and his stubbornness.

* * *

Eliot made his way through the trees and out of the other side of the stand, reaching a flat swathe of bush edging the lonely, little-used back road out to the base.

He knew where he was going. A couple of kilometres down the road was a bar catering to military personnel and a few stockmen from the surrounding cattle and sheep stations. It was basic but busy, and Eliot could wait there until closing time at least, nursing a beer he probably wouldn’t drink.

Following the line of trees and staying in the dense shadows afforded by the fading glory of a rich purple-and-gold sunset, he moved slowly and very painfully, just wondering what the hell he was doing. He _could_ have stayed in Washington. He _could_ have gone to one of his contacts who would have dug _all_ of the bullet out of him and stitched him up, and then he would have found somewhere untraceable where he could lie low and lick his wounds for a couple of weeks. He could have done that.

But he didn’t. There had been only one thought in his mind as he gave Hardison and Parker the slip and headed off on his own. _He had to go home_. And home, for Eliot Spencer, wounded and alone, was Wapanjara Station in the remote Northern Territory of Australia.

He limped over to a tree, and dropping his backpack onto the ground he fished around in its depths and retrieved a cheap burner ‘phone. Holed up in a grubby motel in Washington, he had managed - left-handed - to dig out most of the bullet from his leg and bandaged his wounds, but he had growled with annoyance as the bullet fragmented as he removed it, leaving a small piece still deep within his leg. Then he had bought the untraceable ‘phone just before Mike Vance had picked him up and taken him to the military transport ‘plane heading for Darwin. Vance owed him big-time now, seeing as he and his two team-mates had stopped a major terrorist attack on the nation’s capital in a single afternoon.

Pressing a speed-dial number, Eliot held the telephone to his ear and leaned against the tree, feeling a tiny, slick trickle of blood under the thick, heavily padded bandage he had wrapped around his thigh. He waited a few moments until the dial tone clicked off and a voice answered.

_Hello? Wapanjara Station?_

Eliot almost sagged with relief.

“Hey Jo,” he said with a smile in his voice. “It’s me.”

* * *

The clatter of dishes and the constant stream of muttered curses signalled to Jo Munro that Effie McPhee, housekeeper, cook and dearest friend, was beginning the preparations for dinner as she rumbled about in Wapanjara’s cavernous kitchen.

“Need any help?” she called from the veranda as she finished up her weekly task of balancing the cattle station’s books.

“Nah!” Effie bawled back. “Mister M’ll be back in a bit and he can go dig me some stuff out of the freezer for tomorrow, but other than that, I’m bloody well grand!”

In less than two hours Effie would have a bunch of hungry stockmen and jackaroos to feed, and Jo knew better than to press her help on Effie. She was just about to put away the accounts when the telephone rang.

It took her a few moments to get to the receiver in the living room, but she lifted it and put it to her ear, even as she smiled at Effie’s curses as the little cook wrestled with sliding a couple of fragrantly herby legs of lamb into the capacious oven.

“Hello? Wapanjara Station?” she said into the mouthpiece, and her heart immediately lurched as a familiar voice answered her.

 _Hey Jo_ , it said, and the soft Oklahoma lilt made her smile with delight. _It’s me_.

“ _Oh, Eliot!_ Son, it’s so good to hear from you!! How are you? When are you coming home?” she rattled off, eager to hear all about his plans. Eliot hadn’t been home to Wapanjara in nearly a year, although they received the occasional telephone call whenever he had the opportunity.

However, as the gruff, gentle voice answered her, speaking slowly and carefully as Eliot talked to her, Jo Munro’s lean face became first concerned and then alarmed.

“But –“ she said, and Eliot’s voice rose a little, trying to calm her, telling her he was ‘just fine,’ but she instantly knew he wasn’t and her mind began to whirr with plans. “Eliot, just … just be quiet for a moment, boy!” she interrupted, and she heard the pained sigh on the other end of the line. “We’ll head off within the next fifteen minutes!” Eliot tried to carry on but Jo wouldn’t let him. “No … no, we’re _not_ waiting until the morning! It’s going to take us going on twelve hours to get to you, and you are _not_ going to wait any longer than you have to.” She listened to Eliot quietly telling her something about how he could easily wait for as long as it took, but she stopped him. “We’re on our way, son. Tell me where we’ll find you.”

Picking up her pen she dug out a bit of loose paper and wrote down the directions Eliot gave her. The measured tone of his voice frightened the wits out of her. She knew then he was hurt more than he was letting on.

“Righto. Now you listen to me, Eliot Spencer,” she instructed tersely, frightened for him, “you sit tight, you don’t move any more than you have to, and for goodness sake eat something and keep up your fluid intake, y’hear me? I don’t want you dehydrated on top of everything else, my lad!”

She heard Eliot’s raspy chuckle.

 _I hear you. I’ll see you soon, Jo. You an’ Soapy an’ Eff_. There was a pause _. I‘ve missed you._ There was an abrupt _click_ as he rang off.

Jo blinked and stared at the telephone in her hand for long moments as though the thing had just bitten her. Then her mind shifted into gear and she slammed the telephone back onto its cradle.

“ _EFFIE!! I NEED YOU!!_ ” she bawled, and as she heard Effie drop something in surprise at the tone in Jo’s voice, Jo hurried back to the veranda to see Soapy wander slowly around the corner of the house into the yard, curling up his stock whip and draping it over his shoulder, moving easily in the fading light.

“ _SOAPY!! GO GET THE UTE!!_ ” she yelled, gesticulating towards the barn, and Soapy looked up at her, stopping dead in his tracks.

“ _What’s up, old girl!!_ ” he shouted back, puzzlement on his lugubrious face.

“ _We’re going to Darwin!!_ ” Jo replied hastily.

“ _Darwin??_ ” Soapy was confused. “What the hell’s in Darwin that we have to go right now??”

Jo’s face creased with worry.

“ _Eliot!_ ” she said, her tone softer now as Soapy ran towards her. “Eliot’s in Darwin, and he can’t get home to us Soapy, and he can’t catch the Ghan ‘cause it doesn’t leave for a couple of days and he can’t get a flight or a bus because he’s –“

Soapy clattered up the steps and gathered an agitated Jo in his arms just as Effie stumped onto the veranda as fast as her bunions would let her.

“The Yank’s coming home??” she rumbled, and saw the worry on Jo’s face. “The daft bugger’s hurt, isn’t he?” she added, her muddy eyes glittering.

Jo nodded fiercely.

“Hurt? What do you mean, hurt?” Soapy demanded, worried now.

“I don’t know the details,” Jo said, “he didn’t really say. But I think he’s not able to travel under his own steam anymore and he refuses to go anywhere near a hospital, the silly bugger. We have to go get him,” she added fearfully. “We have to go get our boy _now_.”

Effie dropped a hand on Jo’s shoulder.

“I’ll go pack up the big medical kit, Missus, and sort out food and some flasks of tea.” And for such a short, round woman constantly plagued by her lumpy feet, she was gone in an instant, back to her kitchen to make sure the Munros had everything they needed to bring Eliot safely home to his family.

Soapy kissed Jo on the forehead.

“I’ll get the ute,” he said, tucking a silver curl back from his wife’s face. “The crew can manage the station for a day or two – Effie’ll keep ‘em straight until Charlie and Alice get back,” he added. Charlie Jakkamarra, their station manager, was away in the west paddock for a couple of days servicing the old water bore feed, and had taken his wife of less than a year with him.

Jo nodded, and running her hand through her thick silver-auburn curls, mentally began listing things they would need. Soapy let her go and was about to head into his office to drop off his whip and get the keys to the ute when he hesitated for a moment, turning back to his wife of nearly forty years.

“Jo, love …”

Jo, deep in thought, turned worried green eyes to her husband.

Soapy smiled.

“If he’s travelled from the States to Darwin and he’s upright and able to make a ‘phone call, he’s doing alright so far.”

Jo’s answering smile was shaky.

“I know, I know,” she fretted. “But it’s a twelve-hour drive, Soapy. God only knows what state he’ll be in by the time we get there! What if he falls unconscious and he’s alone somewhere and we can’t find him or … or … “ Jo’s voice faded away as she didn’t want to even contemplate a worse scenario. ” _And_ ,” she continued, “we don’t have a mobile ‘phone so I can talk to him or –“

“Jo!” Soapy stopped her from going any further. “Jo, old girl … go get what you need. We’ll be on the road in ten minutes, so shift your bum, love. We have to go get the lad.”

Jo looked up at her husband and suddenly gave him a kiss on his cheek, which made the pastoralist raise a quizzical eyebrow.

“That’s my Soapy,” Jo whispered. “Mister Practical.”

And turning, she headed towards their bedroom to gather up some essentials she would need to take with them.

* * *

Eliot was finding he had to stop more and more frequently to catch his breath and let the pain subside. _Why_ , he asked himself, did he _really think_ he could walk through the Australian bush with a couple of bullet holes in him, one of which wouldn’t _goddamn stop bleeding_ even if the blood loss was just the occasional trickle. He had managed to get some rest on the long flight from Washington DC, which had fended off the exhaustion for a while, but still …

He cut himself a stick from a gum tree to use as a walking aid, which helped, but he was immensely relieved when he heard distant voices and juke-box music drifting through the cool night air.

It took him the better part of fifteen minutes to limp into the almost-full parking lot in front of The Puddock’s Rest, a noisy, cheerful bar which, he knew, served decent food and whose owner wouldn’t mind if he sat in a booth by himself and waited until closing time.

Propping his makeshift walking stick against the wall and far enough away from the door so it would not get damaged, Eliot straightened, steeled himself, plastered a relaxed, smiling expression on his pale, strained face and went into the bar.

He was instantly swallowed up by the warmth of a mass of bodies and the sound of country rock music on the juke-box. He did his best not to yelp when a couple of Australian soldiers unintentionally and apologetically jarred his wounded shoulder, but when he got to the bar he was greeted by a charming middle-aged redhead whose face lit up with pleasure.

“Well now, look who’s here!” She reached out to press Eliot’s arm in welcome, but he coughed dramatically and hid his face in the crook of his good arm. “Oh, sweetie! Are you okay??” she said, frowning in concern.

Eliot wiped his face on his jacket sleeve and sniffed.

“Hey, Ginger,” he said, and waved his hand vaguely. “Long time no see. Don’t come too near, darlin’ … got a real nasty dose of the ‘flu.” He let out another few tentative coughs to back up his words which hurt the _crap_ out of his wounded shoulder. “I’m waitin’ for a ride, so d’you mind if I wait here?”

Ginger, whose husband Geordie Cameron, a relocated Glaswegian who had given the bar its name after he saw the thousands of frogs in the nearby pond, nodded. Eliot had saved Ginger from a group of asshole bikers with knives when he had first wandered in for a beer after finishing a freelance job with Vance in Pakistan. So, as far as the burly Scotsman and his wife were concerned, Eliot had free beer and food for life.

“Abso, sweetie – I’ll clear a booth for you and get you something to eat. You hungry?”

Eliot, for whom the mere idea of food made his stomach churn, smiled happily.

“Sure, thanks. Just somethin’ easy, if that’s okay?” Eliot thought about a beer and rejected the idea. Alcohol, no matter how little of it he drank, could further dehydrate his body in its already badly weakened state. “An’ just soda or water – I’m drivin’ later.”

“No probs, love,” Ginger answered, understanding.

Within a minute Eliot was seated in a cosy booth with plumped cushions, and Ginger brought him a pitcher of iced water, an empty glass and a couple of aspirin, which Eliot conceded he might just need. Aspirin he could take – it was hefty painkillers that made him fuzzy and sick.

When the light, tasty omelette with delicious home-made spicy fries and a side salad appeared before him, Eliot did his best to eat all of the food on his plate. He needed the energy, and something to fill his belly to keep him warm after the bar closed in a few hours. When that happened, he would be back outside and on his own, and he needed all of the internal fuel he could get, especially as the inevitable fever took hold.

With the food inside him and thankfully staying in his stomach, Eliot eased sideways in the booth and stretched his bad leg along the bench seat, the effort in doing so leaving him drenched with sweat and trembling with pain. He placed another cushion behind his injured shoulder, made himself as comfortable as his damaged body would allow, and sipping slowly from a glass of water, settled down to wait.

* * *

The long, long drive to Darwin was one of the most fretful of Jo’s life.

She and Soapy sat in near silence on the broad stretch of the Stuart Highway as it made its way northwards towards the town of Elliott. There they stopped to top up the ute’s fuel, even though they carried two full jerry-cans of diesel strapped to the flat-bed along with water containers and two spare tires. The big, sturdy tire-jack would make sure any flats could be easily and quickly dealt with. The Stuart Highway, with its vast distances through a difficult landscape, was not to be treated lightly.

As Soapy filled the tank at the Elliott service station, Jo double-checked everything she and Effie had packed. The big medikit was strapped beside the water canisters, and another box containing sandwiches, a large flask full of hot soup and two more containing tea were on the back seat of the cab. A comforter and pillows took up the rest of the space. Jo and Effie had tried to prepare for an Eliot suffering anything from a mild headache to being at death’s door.

Jo hauled out one of the flasks of tea, and watched Soapy finish filling the tank and head off to the small station shop to pay for the fuel. Her impatience and worry were getting the better of her, and she chewed her lip. They had already been travelling for over three hours and still had more than 700 kilometres to go.

“C’mon Soapy … c’mon’-c’mon–c’mon … “she muttered, fidgeting, and gazed helplessly along the lonely road heading ever northward to where Eliot calmly waited for them. His trust in them was absolute.

Jo knew that Eliot would not have called if he could have made his own way to Wapanjara. Usually he changed flights from Darwin or Adelaide to Tennant Creek, and then picked up his old Ducati motorcycle from storage at the airport and drove the rest of the way home, the wind catching his open jacket and the thrum of the engine soothing away the stress as he rode the two-hour trip along Wapanjara’s dirt road.

The fact he had called them from _Darwin_ , of all places, meant he was physically unable to get any further. So, Jo knew in her heart, he was hurt. Or sick. Or - and this was what made her heart lurch - _both_. _He needed them_.

Soapy was walking quickly back to the ute, stuffing his wallet into his jeans pocket, and Jo waved at him urgently.

“Come _on_ , Soapy! We have to get going!” she gritted out, and slid into the passenger seat.

“I’m coming, old girl, I’m coming …” Soapy said, trying to sooth her despite his own worry for the man they regarded as a son. “Can you drive for a bit when we get to the Mataranka servo?”**

Jo stared at her husband as he drove the ute off the service station forecourt and onto the highway, the road straight and true for countless kilometres.

“Are you sure, love?” she said, now worried about her husband as well as Eliot. “I can drive from here, y’know. It’s nearly 300 klicks to Mataranka and you’ve already put in a full day’s work –“

Soapy glanced at his wife and grinned.

“Remember when we were courting? I used to think nothing of driving a few hundred kilometres to see my girl, so this should be right up my street!”

Jo snorted, amused despite her concern.

“Yes, well, you were young and bloody daft back then, and now … well, you’re still bloody daft, you old fool, but you’ve put a few more years on you since then!”

Soapy grinned unrepentantly.

“See – you still love me, my Josephine!” he said triumphantly.

Jo couldn’t resist – she leaned over and kissed Soapy’s cheek.

The pastoralist raised an eyebrow, delighted.

“What was that for?”

“Thank you, love,” Jo whispered, “for making sure our boy is safe and for putting up with a silly old woman who frets too much!”

Soapy’s expression softened.

“Don’t worry, my Jo. We’ll bring him home, patch him up and put him to rights. We’ve done it before, and he’ll be just fine, you’ll see.” He said, reaching out with his left hand to grasp Jo’s fingers where they lay on her thigh.

Jo squeezed his hand in return.

“Soapy Munro? Have I told you lately how much I love you?” she said.

“Not since yesterday. So prove it to me and pour me a nice, hot cuppa, wife of mine!” Soapy chided, trying to ease Jo’s unhappy heart.

So as the old Ford ute travelled steadily along the great Stuart Highway under drifts of stars in a clear night sky, Jo and Soapy Munro drank tea and munched on Effie’s excellent sandwiches. They had another eight or more hours to go, and they had no idea what condition Eliot Spencer would be in when they found him.

* * *

Eliot awoke with a start, immediately regretting the movement as his leg sent thrumming agony through his hip, up his spine and straight to his head, which made him squint, eyes watering with the pain.

“Hey, pal … are y’alright there?”

Geordie Cameron’s broad accent was contained within a soft voice as he leaned over the stocky American, apparently asleep in the booth tucked away in the corner of The Puddock’s Rest.

“Uh …” Eliot grunted as he tried to get the pain under control, and he coughed, his shoulder throbbing with the infection now taking hold in the wound. He managed to clear his vision by rubbing his sleeve over his face, and he saw Geordie frown at him, the man’s fearsomely bushy dark hair and beard at odds with the gentle china blue eyes which lay deep under shaggy brows.

“Um … yeah …” Eliot croaked, realising he had fallen asleep in the booth – or maybe he had passed out, he wasn’t sure. He coughed again, this time not having to pretend that he felt rotten. “What time is it?” he ground out.

“Just eleven past,” Geordie said, and offered a hand to help Eliot to sit upwards. “Ginger’s busy tidyin’ up the kitchen, so … seriously … are you okay?”

Eliot grimaced and managed to sit up without Geordie’s help, but the effort made him dizzy with pain.

“Y … yeah … I’ll make it,” Eliot grunted, waiting for the world to stop spinning.

Geordie Cameron, a Company Sergeant-Major in the Black Watch before he took retirement, emigrated, bought a bar and married his beloved Ginger, knew a severely damaged man when he saw one.

“I, ah … I know a doctor –“ he murmured discreetly.

Eliot waved a hand at the burly Scot, and grinned ruefully.

“Nah … I’ll be okay when my people get here to pick me up. Are you guys closin’ up?”

Geordie nodded.

“Aye … we closed at eleven. Look …” he continued, his eyes flicking towards the kitchen where Eliot could hear Ginger singing tunelessly to herself as she cleaned the gleaming steel surfaces, “are you in trouble, son? I can help –“

“Nope, Geordie … I’m not in any trouble. I’m just goin’ home. I can sit outside an’ wait, no problem.”

The big Scotsman frowned, brooding.

“I can wait with you, laddie, if you need – “

Eliot shook his head carefully, trying to make sure it stayed on his shoulders.

“They’ll be along. You’ve got a bench out there I can sit on, I got plenty of good food in me, an’ all I have to do is just sit there. Easy.”

Geordie chewed his lip and nodded.

“Right … right,” he pondered. “Tell you what – how would you like a flask of hot tea with lots of sugar? You can drop the flask off … y’ken … when you next come by.”

Eliot thought about it for a moment, and took a shallow, hitching breath. The heat of the sweet tea would help as he waited. Although the humidity and warmth of the impending monsoon season kept the nights very mild, Eliot knew he was shivering and chilled due to slow, intermittent blood loss. Tea sounded very welcome, and the sugar would help his energy levels.

“That’d be great, man, thanks,” he replied, a soft smile easing the lines of pain and weariness on his face.

Relieved a little, Geordie headed off to the kitchen to join his wife and make up a flask of tea for this man who had saved his Ginger’s life.

Eliot closed his eyes for a few minutes as he waited for Geordie’s return, and thought about Hardison and Parker, and how he had given them the slip as they headed into a Washington hotel to organise rooms. He had been left in the rental car, and they had thought – mistakenly – that he would stay put, badly wounded as he was. Parker especially was going to make his life hell when he got back to the States.

But all Eliot could think of was going home … back to the peace and gentle heart of Wapanjara and his people. Jo would deal with his injuries, and he would sleep and heal and rest to the fluting song of the magpies in the almond stand, and he could just breathe easily and be himself.

Jo and Effie would no doubt tell him in no uncertain terms that getting shot was _not_ acceptable behaviour and he would probably earn himself a few head-slaps from the old cook. Eliot couldn’t suppress a grin, and he sighed, thinking of his comfortable old bed and good food and the people he loved. He could chill out with Charlie and Alice, and when he was feeling better, he would take his camel Gertie on walkabout for a few days and help with the never-ending work of the cattle station.

“Here, man … “

Geordie’s rich Glasgow accent disturbed Eliot’s reverie and he opened his eyes to see the burly man standing with a big steel flask in his hand.

“Need a haun’ tae get outside?” Geordie asked.

 _Well_ , Eliot thought, _it’s time_. He wasn’t too sure if he could get to his feet unaided, and Geordie knew it. Placing the flask on the booth table, he did his best to help Eliot stand, and the hitter was glad of it. He was dreadfully stiff and his shoulder and leg were searing acid fire through every nerve in his body, Eliot was certain. He sucked in as deep a breath as he could, and with Geordie’s help, he waited until the threat of unconsciousness faded and his vision improved.

“C’mon laddie … while Ginger’s occupied I’ll get you settled.” Geordie raised a bushy eyebrow and waited.

“Yeah … thanks,” Eliot grunted, and winced as Geordie, as carefully as he could, supported the injured man as Eliot limped out of the bar and out into the scented night.

A huge old boab tree stood at the edge of the parking lot, and Geordie had set several benches and picnic tables around its massive girth. It was there he settled Eliot, the moonlight dappling the bench, and once Eliot was seated, Geordie headed back to the bar and returned with the flask and Eliot’s backpack, setting them both on the table beside the American.

“I dinnae like leavin’ you like this, son,” Geordie murmured, and even in the reflected moon-glow Eliot could see worry and gentle concern in the big man’s eyes. “Are you sure –“

Eliot raised a hand and nodded.

“Yeah, I’m sure. This is perfect. They won’t be long now,” he lied, knowing Geordie would insist on staying if he realised Eliot’s people were still hours away.

Geordie nodded, and was joined by Ginger, who wasn’t too sure what was going on, but she _did_ know she didn’t like leaving this man – the stranger who had come to her aid on a night much like this - on his own, especially as he was obviously ill.

“Okay now …” Geordie said, feeling awkward. “We, ah … we’ll away then.”

Eliot grinned at the pair of them, appreciating their kindness, but now ready to settle down for the long wait.

“Go home, you two,” he teased good-humouredly, eyes crinkling as he smiled, and he waved them away, no matter that it cost him dear when the pain hit and he had to make a concerted effort not to yelp. “I’ll be by with your flask in a few weeks. ‘Night.”

“’Night sweetie,” Ginger said, unsure but realising that Eliot was intent on doing this on his own, “you take care now,” she added, and slipping her arm through Geordie’s, they made their way over to their old ex-army landrover. In less than a minute they were gone.

Eliot turned a little, tucking his exhausted body into the angle of the bench back and the armrest, and he eased his leg up onto the seat. This time he was free to let out a wrenching groan of pain, and he cupped his right arm with his left, trying to support the damaged shoulder.

He took a few deep breaths to try and ease the throb of his wounds, and closed his eyes. Slumping further down onto the bench, he allowed his battered frame the luxury of being as still as possible.

The night enveloped him. Out here, on a side road between the barracks and the distant outskirts of Darwin proper, there was very little traffic, especially at this time of night. When the external lights from The Puddock’s Rest were turned off, the night sky, a mass of faded stars and small, moon-gilded clouds, was soothing to Eliot’s damaged soul.

The air, balmy and warm, was redolent with the heady scent of the roses and gardenias Ginger planted everywhere she could about the place, and Eliot could hear the croak of the frogs in the nearby pond that gave the bar its name.

He desperately wanted a drink of the tea Geordie had supplied, but he was just about as comfortable as he could get under the circumstances and moving meant a great deal more pain, so Eliot just dealt with the thirst for now. He knew he should really keep his fluid intake up, but all he wanted was to rest until Jo and Soapy came to save him.

And so, with the gentle ‘oom-oom’ of a nearby pair of nesting frogmouths echoing through the night, Eliot finally managed to fall into a light doze.

* * *

By the time Soapy and Jo hit Mataranka the pastoralist was very ready to hand over the driving to his wife. His eyes were scratchy with tiredness, and his back ached worse than when he had ridden for hours on a stiff-legged old mule as a youth.

Once more they topped up the fuel tank, and Soapy broke out the soup and chunks of home-made bread Effie had packed. Thankfully the soup was still piping hot, and as Jo drove out of the service station, refreshed after sleeping stretched out on the back seat, Soapy poured out the thick, rich concoction and tucked in.

Even as he chewed a delicious, soup-soaked hunk of bread, he poured more into a travel mug for Jo and set it where she could easily access it in the cup holder between them.

“Save some for Eliot, love,” Jo murmured, “knowing him, he’ll need it.”

Soapy nodded and screwed the top of the flask tightly, trying to keep what was left of the soup as hot as possible. And so the pair of them trundled onward, towards the north where Eliot awaited them, just over 400 kilometres and four hours away along the endless sprawl of the great Stuart Highway.

* * *

The renewed throbbing in Eliot’s wounded shoulder woke him with a gasp. He discovered he had slid down the bench slightly and the armrest was making his right arm lie awkwardly, which in turn put pressure on the festering bullet hole through his shoulder.

 _Damn_ , but he had to move. Somehow, with lots of swearing and a great deal of pain, he managed to pull his damaged body more upright, but the relief from the agonizing pressure on his wound made the effort worth it.

It took him several attempts to open the flask and shakily pour a generous dollop of the scented, rich tea into the mug, but the resulting hot drink was delicious. The bergamot in the Earl Grey tea moistened his dry mouth and tongue and soothed his scratchy throat. If need be, Eliot decided, he could now produce more than an arid croak if he had to speak.

It was as he savoured his third mouthful of the sweet, hot liquid that he heard the sound.

Eliot immediately tensed, which made his eyes water with the pain of it. Listening carefully, he waited. There it was again … a soft, crying yip.

 _Huh_.

He had emerged from a nightmare an hour or so ago, and although only half-awake he thought he heard the sound of a car slowing and then suddenly speeding away. Too disorientated and ill to take much notice, he had drifted again back into uneasy slumber, his leg on fire and the damaged shoulder sending streaks of agony across his chest.

The little squeaky cries came again.

 _Dog_ , he thought. _Must be a dumped pup or somethin’_ … he coughed – which hurt like a _sonofabitch_ \- and then took another sip of tea to further moisten his mouth.

“H … hey, little guy,” he called, and licked his parched lips. “S’okay …”

The response was immediate. A flurry of tiny, yappy barks answered him, which made Eliot smile.

“C’mon … I’m over here,” he added, trying to sit up straighter. “ _Shit-shit-shit-_ “ he wheezed as his wounds objected, and the pup’s barks became frenzied. “C’mere, buddy … come to Eliot …”

But however much the pup barked and whined, it apparently made no move to come closer. That fact confused Eliot, his foggy, fevered mind not able to figure it out.

But the silence seemed to upset the mystery dog, and the soft cries began again, which in turn upset the hitter. The animal was hurt, maybe? He didn’t like seeing animals hurt and neglected, and someone had dumped the poor critter, he was positive, which made him angry.

Finishing his tea, he came to a decision. If the pup couldn’t come to him, then, Eliot concluded, he had to go find the pup.

He grinned weakly. That seemed like _absolutely_ the logical thing to do. He could do it if he tried. _Sure he could_. He would find the pup and he would make sure it was safe. Maybe he could give it to Effie as a present. She liked pups. In fact, she tended to get downright squishy when cuddling puppies. It might save him from a head-slap or two.

“Okay … okay, lil’ guy, Eliot’s on his way. Don’t you worry … it’ll be fine …” he slurred, and still muttering gentle words and feverish, strung-out sentences, he began to make the long, painful journey to his feet.

 

To be continued …

* * *

 

* Robertson Barracks exists. An Australian Army base situated about 15 kilometres outside Darwin, it is home to Australia’s 1st Aviation Regiment. Since 2012, it has been reported that U.S. Marines have been based there on a rotational basis. My version is pure invention. There is also a military base at Pine Gap, near Alice Springs, which is much closer to Tennant Creek. This secret facility in the middle of Australia consists of a large computer complex which attempts to locate radio signals in the world’s Eastern Hemisphere, via information fed into the U.S. drone programme. However, Soapy and Jo would never have got anywhere near the place because it’s run in partnership with the NSA and the Australian secret services, hence my use of Robertson Barracks, even though it is twice the distance for the Munros to travel. Such is life.

** Servo – a typical Australian contraction – why use three syllables when two will do? Or in this case, four syllables, as in ‘service station.’ You won’t hear an Australian say ‘gas-station’. They are either petrol stations or service stations, where you can buy snacks and so forth. So, you stop by the servo to buy bikkies and a cuppa and fill your car with petty.


	2. A Long Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of hurting, comfort and a rescued pup.

* * *

Soapy snored fitfully in the passenger seat of the ute as Jo drove through Katherine and on past the old gold-mining town of Pine Creek. Jo remembered Eliot telling her how he had spent a great time visiting the small, quirky museums there and hiking in the bush, backpacking. While camping near the Umbrawarra Gorge, he had gone rock-hopping and swimming his way to an ancient rockhole, where he had slept for the night under the stars. As he told her about it, she had seen the pure delight in his blue eyes. Jo couldn’t contain a hiccupping sob.

Soapy awoke with a snort.

“You alright there, old girl?” he murmured, voice still raspy with sleep. “Want me to take over?”

Jo, peering at the endless road ahead of her, waved her left hand at him, cross with herself for allowing the situation to get to her.

“Nah … I’m fine. Just thinking about Eliot, that’s all. He’s … oh, I just wish he didn’t do what he does!”

Soapy, stiff from lying with his head pressed against the window, grinned ruefully, teeth flashing in the glow of the dashboard lights.

“Well, love, you used to wish the same about me. You knew what I did, but you managed.”

Jo had to smile at Soapy’s timely reminder that he had been a deadly sniper with Australia’s special forces, with fifty-two kills to his name. She sighed noisily.

“I know … I know … but you had backup!” she said, the worry nagging at her, “and I know Eliot has the rest of that team he works with, but none of them were soldiers like he was!”

Soapy nodded, agreeing with her.

“They have their own skills, Jo … and he trusts ‘em. They must be very special if Eliot lets them watch his back.” He paused for a moment. “He doesn’t trust easily, you know that.”

Jo was silent as she digested Soapy’s words, and then she nodded.

“I’m just worried for him, that’s all.” She straightened a little in the driver’s seat and tightened her grip on the steering wheel, as though it would make the ute go faster. “We’ll top up the ute at Adelaide River, shall we? Can you drive the bit from there to just by Humpty Doo? Then I can navigate to the barracks.”

Soapy yawned, stretched and reached back between the seats, pulling out the second flask of tea.

“Can do.” He unscrewed the steel mugs from the top of the flask. “At least we’ll only be twenty minutes away from the barracks by then. Want a cuppa? It should still be pretty warm,” he added, knowing Jo would _never_ turn down a cup of tea.

“Mmm …” Jo murmured absently as she drove. They still had just a little less than three hours to go. “Thanks.”

But every minute it took for them to reach Eliot, Jo knew, the less likely he would be in reasonable condition when they found him. She pressed her foot down slightly on the accelerator and the ute rumbled doggedly along the lonely highway and into the coming dawn.

* * *

Eliot’s whistling skills were letting him down. To be fair, he thought, his whistle was trying to make it past cracked lips and a dry mouth, and his tongue, despite the refreshing tea, still felt like it wanted to cleave to the roof of his mouth and stay there.

He licked his lips and tried again. This time the whistle was a little better, and the yipping began once more, sharper this time, with a hint of excitement.

Eliot squinted in the moonlight, and he leaned heavily on the huge old boab tree, its bulbous, swollen trunk the only thing keeping him upright.

He could hardly put any weight on his leg now, and he hopped forward in the general direction of the tiny barks, now off to his right. Had the pup moved? Eliot wasn’t sure. He wished he had had Geordie retrieve the rough-cut stick Eliot had used to get to The Puddock’s Rest and which now lay uselessly propped against the external wall, only yards away. Perhaps if he could hop to the next tree he might be able to get a little closer to the unseen animal.

By launching himself away from the boab trunk he took a few stumbling steps towards the stringybark growing a mere two yards away, using the toes of his damaged leg to try and keep him balanced rather than to bear his weight.

“Hey, dog!” he croaked, “gimmee a break here! Come to poppa, will ya?”

And so it went on for some twenty yards or so, Eliot alternating between coping with the excruciating pain and calling out or whistling at the unseen pup, all of the time trying to figure out where the animal was.

He let out a yelp of his own as he lurched against the body of another stringybark, a young tree with a trunk that didn’t take a lot of weight. An entire one-hundred-and-eighty pounds of a wounded Eliot Spencer leaning on it made the trunk bend away from the stricken hitter, and Eliot’s balance was instantly compromised.

He staggered and put his entire weight on his bad leg which promptly gave way. Eliot crashed against the swaying stringybark and fell, hitting the ground hard.

He let out a keening bawl of pure agony and his back arched as the wound in his shoulder opened, and he almost vomited with the pain of it. But he forced himself to relax, chest heaving, trying his best to calm his hammering heart and deal with the torment of his injuries.

Through the blood thumping through his ears and the fever washing through his system, Eliot thought that the pup’s yipping was closer. The animal seemed to be trying to move towards him, he was sure. Yeah – the little creature must be hurt, Eliot thought, gritting his teeth as the sickly, thudding pain eased a little, even as he felt blood seep into the heavy bandage on his shoulder.

 _Hell, Jo was gonna be so pissed_ …

And then the yip was right next to him and he blearily lifted his head to see where the dog was, only to be met by a flurry of slurpy, happy licks from a tiny pink tongue which swept Eliot’s gaunt face from chin to hairline.

Eliot tried his best to gently push the animal away with his good hand, only for the licks to be transferred to the skin of his palm, and suddenly the aching loneliness was gone, and he chuckled hoarsely.

The pup was small, grubby white and rough of coat, and Eliot found himself looking at a pair of intelligent boot-black eyes and a stubby nose, the fuzzy face panting happily at him.

“Hey there, fella,” he wheezed, and the pup gave him another smattering of sloppy licks on the back of his hand. Eliot rubbed the animal’s neck and the pup let out a groan of delight. But when Eliot touched the pup’s left foreleg the animal let out a yelp of pain, although it returned to the relentless licking as soon as Eliot pulled his hand away.

“Well, looks like you an’ me both are in need of a little doctorin’,” Eliot murmured, and too tired and too hurt to attempt to move, he lay on his back in the short grass, trying to ease his leg and make himself as pain-free as possible.

The pup was thin, he could tell, but it still had plenty of life left in it, hurt or not. Within moments the pup was nudging into Eliot’s side, whimpering a little as its leg objected, and Eliot did his best to feel along the damaged limb while not hurting the little canine too much. There was no ‘give’ of broken bones, but his fingers came away a little bloody. Maybe the injury wasn’t too bad, he pondered.

“Okay, buddy … looks like I ain’t movin’ any time soon, so make yourself comfortable,” he instructed groggily. “Jo an’ Soapy’ll be along, and then we can both go home. How does that sound, huh?” he asked, and the pup burrowed into Eliot’s jacket, seeking the feverish warmth of this kind, gentle man who had unexpectedly come into its young life.

So Eliot, lying helplessly flat on his back in the grass under the waning moon, hurt and bleeding and riddled with fever, lay and waited as a small white terrier pup snuggled sleepily by his side, giving him comfort and company as he waited for his family to arrive and take them both home to Wapanjara.

* * *

The hint of dawn began to turn the western sky a pale dove-grey, the faintest touch of pink soaking into the fading drift of stars. Jo yawned as she washed out the two big flasks in the Adelaide River service station rest room. Wandering out into the shop section, she smiled at the girl behind the counter and held up the flasks.

“Is there any way I can refill these?” she asked. “Tea, if possible? With milk?”

The girl nodded, grinning back.

“No probs! You need sugar?”

Jo, relieved, agreed.

“Just some little packs would do, then we can help ourselves.”

As the girl made up the tea from the big urn behind the counter, Soapy appeared, arms full of snacks.

“I thought we might need them on the way home, just to keep our energy levels up, old girl.”

Jo looked at the pile of both sweet and savoury snacks and had to smile despite her worry. Soapy was an energy burner, and if Eliot was as hurt as Jo thought he was, her husband would have to bear the brunt of the driving during the 12-hour trip home because she would have her hands full with a damaged Eliot Spencer.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, “I forgot!” Turning to the girl now topping up the two flasks with milk, she had one more request. “We have a flask half-full of soup – is there any way –“

“ – I can heat it up?” the girl answered as she placed the full flasks on the counter. “We do that all the time! It’ll take a few minutes, though. Is that okay?”

Jo looked at her watch. “That’s fine.” She glanced at her husband. “Soapy … it’ll just be an hour or so … we’ll be there just before the sun’s fully up.”

Soapy studied his wife’s worn face. He was worried about her. Fretting about Eliot was taking the heart out of her and she wouldn’t settle until they found the man they regarded as a son. And then a whole new set of worries would assail her. How badly was he hurt? Would he be able to stand the trip home to Wapanjara? What if he was _so_ badly hurt they _had_ to take him to a hospital, and then Jo would embark on a _serious_ guilt trip for betraying Eliot’s wishes.

He dug out cash to pay for the fuel, snacks and filling the flasks, thanked the girl when she returned with the flask half-full of piping hot soup, and touched Jo’s arm.

“Come on, love … let’s go find our boy, hey?”

Jo gave him a watery smile and kissed him on the cheek.

“As always, you keep me balanced, my Soapy. That’s one of the reasons I love you so much, you old fool!”

And they walked out into the burgeoning day, knowing that they would find Eliot come hell or high water.

* * *

Within forty-five minutes they had passed Humpty Doo, the street lights paling in the rising pink-gold of dawn, and fifteen minutes later they were driving slowly along the back road which led to Robertson Barracks. Soapy was behind the wheel and Jo managed to read her scribbled notes by the rosy glow of a rising sun.

“There’s the Barracks gates,” Jo muttered as they spotted the guard-room and the swing barrier. “Keep going … about a kilometre or so, Eliot said, on the left. The place is called ‘The Puddock’s Rest’ …”

Looking up she peered through the windscreen, desperate to see any sign of this place where Eliot had told them he was waiting.

A minute or two later, Jo’s eyes widened with relief.

“ _There!! There, Soapy!!_ ” she cried out and pointed at a neat sign beside the entrance to a short road leading to a large, dark building with an empty parking lot.

Soapy slowly turned into the parking lot, both of them straining their eyes looking for any sign of Eliot. But there was nothing. He brought the ute to a halt beside a huge old boab tree and turned off the engine. Jo was out of the vehicle before the noise of the engine died.

“ELIOT!” she yelled, “ _ELIOT!! ELIOT, SON, WHERE ARE YOU??_ ”

Soapy exited the ute and walked around it to stand beside his wife, and he shushed her by holding his finger to his lips. Jo understood instantly, and they stood as still as they could, listening.

Silence.

Soapy glanced at the tables and benches dotted around the boab, and nudged Jo.

“Look over there. They must be Eliot’s!” he said, pointing at a backpack and a flask on the table furthest from them.

“Oh lord,” Jo breathed with a hitching sob. “Where is he?? _ELIOT!!!”_

They listened again as they checked out the flask and the backpack. Soapy opened the flap on the backpack and brought out a sniper’s scope in a cloth bag.

“Yep – this is Eliot’s,” he said, his voice raspy with worry. Opening the flask, Soapy discovered the tea inside was still fairly warm. “Where the hell is he?? He can’t be far away, surely, especially if he’s hurt!”

Jo ran shaky fingers through her curls and bit her lip.

“We don’t have much time, Soapy! The sun’ll be up in half an hour and if anyone sees us it’ll make getting Eliot out of here more difficult. ELIOT!!” she bawled, and this time she thought she heard something. “ _ELIOT??”_

The sound came again. It was the very faint yipping of a small dog … a puppy, by the sound of it. Soapy and Jo stared at one another for a moment before heading towards the high-pitched barking. It was the only lead they had.

“ _ELIOT!!_ ” Soapy bawled, digging a torch out of his jacket pocket, and this time the puppy-yips seemed a little closer. “This way!” he said to Jo, and switching on the torch so that they had decent light amongst the trees, the two of them followed the noise.

They hadn’t gone far when they spotted a flash of white, and then the barks became louder and there, in the beam of the torch, a small puppy limped towards them occasionally hopping on three legs.

Soapy crouched down, and the puppy thought about it for a moment and then flung itself at him, licking madly and very happy to see them.

“This is why he’s not waiting by the boab!!” Jo exclaimed, suddenly understanding. “The silly bugger went looking for this little fella! Hand me the torch!”

Soapy straightened and carrying the puppy, still licking and whining with delight, passed the torch to Jo who aimed the beam in the direction from which the pup had come. There, at the very edge of the light, something lay on the ground, quiet and still.

“ _ELIOT!!_ ” she cried, and ran towards the figure, Soapy following on behind her, the pup held carefully in his arms.

Jo dropped down beside the body, sprawled bonelessly on its back, eyes closed. Eliot looked dead.

“ _Oh God … Eliot, son_ … “she whispered, and glanced at her husband who knelt down on the other side of the still figure. “Here … can you hold this?” she asked and handed the torch to Soapy. For a moment she hesitated, terrified that when she touched Eliot’s face all she would feel would be the chill of death, but she gritted her teeth and cupped his face.

“ _SHIT!_ ” Eliot yelped and woke up, disorientated and gasping, his yell turning to a hiss of pain as his wounds jarred.

Jo nearly fell flat on her backside in surprise but soon regained her balance as blue eyes opened and squinted in the light.

“Jo???” Eliot croaked, and tried to lift his left arm to shield his face from the light. “Jo? Soapy? ‘S that you?” he asked, his voice dry and hoarse.

Jo smiled through relieved tears, and tucked a sweat-damp curl of hair back under his beanie.

“You silly sod!” she chided, “I thought you were dead!”

Eliot smiled weakly, and Jo’s heart almost seized when she saw how exhausted he was.

“Soapy … we need to get him out of here. How –“

Soapy tucked the wriggling, happy pup under one arm and squeezed Eliot’s forearm.

“Stay put, boy, for a sec … I’ll go see if I can get the ute closer … how bad is it?” he asked a little fearfully.

Eliot raised a shaky hand and Jo clasped it as tightly as she dared without hurting him. He grinned wearily. Jo and Soapy had found him and would take him home where he could rest and heal.

“M’shot …” he whispered.

Jo paled.

“ _Shot?? Shot where??_ ”

She eased Eliot’s hand out of her grasp and began to unzip his jacket, but Eliot stopped her.

“It’s … it’s okay … I’ve had worse,” he rasped. “Right shoulder, through an’ through … left leg … thigh.” He rested for a moment or two before speaking again. “Lil’ problem with that …” he slurred with a smile. “There’s a bullet fragment still in there … I got the rest of it, darlin’, but you should be able to dig out what’s left. I … I just couldn’t get a hold of it.”

Jo stared at Eliot as she saw him visibly relax now that he had been found by the people he loved.

“Eliot, love … you need a hospital this time!! I can’t –“

Soapy stood up, cradling the pup which yipped quietly.

“I’ll get the ute,” he whispered, and then he was gone, leaving Jo to tend to their errant American.

“Nah. Hospitals report gunshot wounds. I can’t take the risk,” Eliot said, and he shifted, wincing. “I got a present for Effie,” he added with a slightly loopy grin. “I found a pup for her, Jo! Effie loves pups!!”

Jo knew then that Eliot wouldn’t go anywhere near a hospital, the _idiot_ , and she didn’t know whether to clip him across the ear or hug him silly - both of which she couldn’t do because the daft bugger was _shot_ \- and she would take care of him, so help her, because he was theirs and he was loved.

“Okay … okay … let’s have a look at you,” she muttered and this time Eliot let her unzip his jacket.

Right shoulder, he had said … Jo carefully peeled back the jacket and even in the dim light she could see the bulk of bandages under the layers Eliot usually wore.

“How long since this has been dealt with?” she asked, now submerging her concerns as her nursing skills came to the fore. She eased Eliot’s shirt and Henley up and she saw his abdomen tense with the pain of it. “Sorry … but I have to see …”

Eliot grimaced but bore it.

“It’s okay … “ he thought about it. “Shot just over two days ago, maybe … I _think_ … maybe three days. I’ve been bleedin’ on and off, an’ I haven’t been able to change the dressing. Sorry.”

It was Eliot’s turn to apologise, but Jo shushed him as she inspected the heavy padding. The blood had soaked through but had dried.

“This needs changing, my lad! And you’re burning up! I need to get some antibiotics in you as soon as I can, but we can’t do it here. D’you think you can stand waiting until we can find somewhere safe where I can get a better look at you?”

Eliot, hurting and barely able to see straight, grinned wolfishly.

“No probs, sweetheart!” he whispered, and Jo cupped his face for a moment.

“You’re a bloody wreck, you nerk!” she said. “Why-oh- _why_ come all the way to Australia??? Couldn’t you get treatment in the States?”

As she spoke she ran deft fingers from his left knee upwards and stopped at the thick padding hidden beneath his jeans. Eliot closed his eyes and grunted at the very slightest pressure, and Jo bit her lip. She couldn’t deal with the bullet fragment until they got home to Wapanjara, and it was obviously extremely painful. She wondered if the fragment was lying against a nerve.

“Couldn’t stay there …” Eliot ground through gritted teeth. “ … had to come home … had to be safe …”

Jo pulled his shirt and undershirt down and zipped up his jacket. Eliot was shivering, whether through blood-loss or infection she couldn’t tell, but probably a combination of both.

“Listen … Eliot … it’s going to be a long drive back, my boy … you really need a doctor _right now_ – “

Eliot grasped her arm and she was surprised at the strength in it as his blue gaze fixed on her.

“No, Jo … I can’t … _no hospital_ … I’ll make it, you know that … _please_ …”

And as she heard the ute’s engine start and shift into gear, she knew she couldn’t deny him. Where this stubborn hatred of hospitals came from, she had no idea, but, she thought, if she could get his wounds cleaned and re-bandaged and some antibiotics into his system, he would make it home. Then she could take out the bullet fragment and he would deal with the fever, and he would heal. Her boy was tough, she knew, and he _trusted_ them.

“Okay,” she said grimly. “Okay, let’s do this. There’s a place I know where we can stop for an hour or so and I can get you cleaned up. Then we go home, and you stay in your damn’ bed until I say so, y’hear me?”

Eliot grinned, relieved.

“I hear you. An’ the pup!” he added, eyes bright with amusement. “He can come home with us? For Effie?”

Jo shook her head and sighed.

“Yes, alright, alright! He can come home to Wapanjara!”

“That’s … that’s just copasetic …” Eliot whispered happily as Jo sat with him, even as Soapy drove the ute carefully among the trees so Eliot could settle in the vehicle and be taken home to Wapanjara.

* * *

It turned out that it was easier for Eliot to stretch out on the front passenger seat, the back reclined as far as it would go and his battered body supported by cushions. It hurt him to ease into the seat, but Jo heard a moan of relief as she placed a supporting cushion under his wounded leg. Another cushion was placed under his head and Jo’s warm comforter was draped over him and tucked in.

Jo eased into the rear seat beside Eliot’s head and Soapy passed her the pup, who wriggled with delight at the attention. The little dog was very tired and sore, and he settled down on a spare cushion beside Jo as she sat beside Eliot, a hand straying to his cheek, checking his temperature. It was obvious he was running quite a fever.

“Feel a little easier?” she asked him softly as Soapy dumped Eliot’s backpack and Geordie’s flask on the seat beside the pup, who was too weary to stir and just twitched a stubby tail in a greeting.

Eliot, now too exhausted to move much, nodded and his eyes closed as he turned his face into Jo’s touch.

“Not so much pain,” he murmured. His eyes opened for a second, and he gazed at the woman whom he knew would heal him and return him to the world. “M’sorry, Jo. But I didn’t know any other way of gettin’ home …” His eyes drifted shut again as he was lulled by the warmth and the lessening of the terrible pain.

Jo teased back his lank hair from his eyes and smiled at him.

“No worries, my lad. You’re safe now. So, let’s get you home and that fragment dug out of you. Hey? When we get to Buller’s Creek I’ll clean out that shoulder wound and get you tidied up a bit. Maybe stick some pen and strep in your arse and start battling this infection. It’s not going to be much fun, I’m afraid,” she added apologetically, resting her hand on Eliot’s chest. Her heart skipped a beat as his good hand reached up and laced fingers with hers. He obviously needed the contact.

“S’alright, Jo … I can take it. I’ll be fine …” he mumbled, and to Jo’s relief he began to slip into a light doze.

Soapy clambered into the driver’s seat and carefully closed the door so that he didn’t jar Eliot’s injuries, and turned the key in the ignition. They were ready.

“Righto, old girl,” he said. “Let’s take Eliot home.”

And carefully driving through the trees, Soapy brought the ute out of the shade and onto the asphalt, heading along this lonely road and back onto the Stuart Highway.

* * *

Buller’s Creek was an hour out of Humpty Doo, heading south towards distant Adelaide.

Jo eased her hand away from Eliot’s chest, trying hard not to disturb him, and got out of the ute. Soapy had turned off the main highway onto a faint dirt road, and now waited for Jo to open a battered old gate leading to a track which disappeared into the bush. Crawling through the open gateway, Soapy waited for Jo to close the gate behind them and then followed Jo as she walked along the track ahead of them. Within a minute or so they came upon a stand of coolibahs beside the clear, fresh water of a small creek, and the remains of an old single-storey shack made of corrugated iron.

Soapy brought the ute to a halt beside a large, worn boulder overseeing the flowing water, and turned off the engine.

Eliot awoke with a start.

“What -?” he croaked, and shifted, letting out a grunt of pain.

“Stay put for a minute, son,” Soapy said as he got out of the ute and walked around to the passenger door. Opening it, he gently reached out to help Eliot, who struggled upright in the seat before beginning to wrangle his bad leg out of the vehicle.

“Wait!!” Jo hurried to help. “Wait a minute, you idiot! Let us help you!” she added, and standing beside Soapy, she supported him as Soapy very carefully eased Eliot’s damaged body out of the old ute.

Once he was upright, Soapy slung the Oklahoman’s uninjured arm over his shoulder and Jo supported Eliot’s other side, careful not to touch his shoulder. Between them, with a stream of curses coming from Eliot as he tried to deal with the pain, they managed to sit him down on the huge boulder, Soapy supporting him as Eliot slumped sideways, grateful for Soapy’s strong hands and resting his head against the old pastoralist’s chest.

Jo retrieved the big medikit and sliding it onto the flat top of the boulder beside Eliot, she brought out nitrile gloves, scissors and a pack of saline.

“Now, my lad, I’m going to clean up your shoulder, re-bandage everything and give you a shot of pen and strep, alright?”

Soapy felt Eliot nod and worried about the heat coming from the younger man.

“Then you’re going to drink as much fluid as you can and get some soup in you. Effie will be most annoyed if you don’t get some food in your belly,” she continued with a smile in her voice, and she heard Eliot snort in amusement.

“Nag!” he croaked, and Jo chuckled despite her worry.

“Boofhead!” she countered, and this time Eliot chuckled. Effie’s favourite epithet made his chest warm with affection.

It took Jo nearly an hour to get Eliot cleaned up to her satisfaction. The shoulder wound was infected, as she had guessed, and after cutting off the soiled bandages, she soaked off the dressings stuck to the wound and then she scrubbed out the infection, mopped up the resulting blood and re-dressed both holes, front and back. Eliot shook but didn’t make a sound, and Soapy held him tight and felt every tremor and flinch the hitter made.

The leg wound was a different matter.

Giving Eliot a few minutes to recover, Jo then asked Soapy to help him stand up as well as he could. As Eliot leaned heavily on Soapy, Jo managed to ease his jeans down to uncover the thick bandages around his left thigh. She sucked in a sharp breath as she studied the blood-stained padding. She had to know if it was still bleeding. If so, she could at least clean the wound properly and re-dress it, but it would hurt like hell, and Eliot had already dealt with enough pain.

“Do it,” Eliot whispered as he sat on the warm boulder, leaning almost his whole weight against Soapy.

Gritting her teeth, Jo snipped off the bandages and studied the wound lying under the heavy gauze dressing. The hole appeared to be in the front of Eliot’s powerful thigh muscle, and wouldn’t be too deep. If the bullet had travelled further at the angle it had entered the leg, his femur would have been damaged and he would never be able to put his weight on it, let alone walk. And he _had_ walked, she had no doubt. But she was now almost certain that the fragment lay against a nerve, because of the terrible, constant pain. So, she did what she could. She left the gauze in place, not wanting the wound to begin bleeding again until she removed the bullet fragment. She re-dressed it, and then dug out a small vial of oily, off-white liquid and a syringe.

“Okay, Eliot – I’m not going to tell you this isn’t going to hurt, because it is. So … while I have you with your strides down I’m going to stick this in your bum. Antibiotics. You know the drill, laddie.”

Eliot groaned.

“Oh, man … I friggin’ _hate_ this!” he grumbled into Soapy’s chest, his breath hitching.

Soapy grinned, and rubbed Eliot’s bare back.

“At least she’s not using the cattle needles this time!” he said, and Eliot huffed a laugh. Cattle needles _hurt_.

Without further ado, Jo filled the syringe to the relevant level, pulled down Eliot’s boxers far enough to reveal a buttock and stuck in the needle, eliciting a grunt of pain from the wounded man.

“Sorry,” she muttered as she depressed the plunger slowly, the thick liquid taking its time to work into the muscle. If she rushed it, she knew, Eliot would get cramps in his backside to add to his pains. “All done,” she said, and then she was finished. Now all they needed to do was feed and water him and they could head home to Wapanjara.

Once more dressed in a clean Henley and shirt Jo had brought for him and his jeans back in place, Eliot was helped back into the ute where Jo wordlessly handed him a bottle of water and hitched a stern eyebrow at him. Eliot drank the water.

It took him a while, and he rested between sips, eyes closed and resting his head against the side of the vehicle, but as Jo poured out a mug of Effie’s delicious soup, Soapy packed away the medikit and then put up with a nosy pup, now wide awake and sporting a bright red crepe bandage on his damaged leg.

Jo had discovered a cut amongst the grubby white fur, which although painful, was easy to treat. Trimming away hair, she cleaned the cut and dressed it lightly, finishing off with the red crepe bandage just to keep the wound clean. The pup had licked her hand and forearm throughout the whole procedure, only whimpering a little as Jo cleaned the wound with saline and lathered it with antiseptic. But now he was batting at Soapy’s arm with his bandaged leg, and was eager to be allowed out of the vehicle.

“Okay, okay, you little thug,” Soapy said with a grin, and lifting the pup he placed him on the ground, “don’t you go wandering off, y’hear?”

It was instantly obvious that the little canine had no intentions of wandering off. His nose dropped, and like all terriers, he began to sniff. He puttered about as Eliot worked his way through the hot soup, and his antics made the American smile, happy now that the animal was feeling much better and that his injury wasn’t serious.

“Eff’s gonna love him,” he murmured to Jo, who stood beside him making sure he finished his meal. He desperately needed the energy and to offset the painkillers she was going to give him. She knew he didn’t tolerate the medication too well, but this time he needed something to take the edge off the pain. The journey would be horrendous otherwise, and she hoped having a full stomach would stop Eliot dealing with nausea. She dug out the two pills, and Eliot scowled. “Nope. No painkillers,” he groused.

Jo sighed. _Here we go again …_

“You’ve got food in your stomach, and this time … _this time, Eliot_ … you _will_ take these. No argument, boy!”

Eliot hitched an eyebrow at this woman who had saved him all of those years ago, when he had left Moreau and was a hunted man.

“No pills!” he growled, and his upper lip twitched. Jo wasn’t in the least impressed.

“Eliot Spencer, you take these pills, laddie, or I will get Soapy to hold you down and I’ll stuff them down your throat, so help me, and you _will_ swallow them! And don’t think Soapy couldn’t do it, either! He’s been dealing with thousand pound bullocks for forty years, young man, so holding down a Yank with two bullet holes in him and running one helluva fever will be a bloody doddle!”

Jo’s lean face was determined and there was a dangerous glint in her green eyes.

Eliot did his best to stare her down, but in the end the weariness and pain got the better of him, and he nodded.

“ _Not a friggin’ Yank_ ,” he rumbled, and then allowed Jo to pop the pills in his mouth. He swallowed them, knowing Jo would check if he tried to avoid doing so, washing them down with a mouthful of cool water. “They make me fuzzy, Jo,” he added, just a little whiny. “I hate feelin’ fuzzy. An’ sick. They make me sick!”

“Well, fuzzy is good and you can cope with it if it helps the pain, Eliot. You need them this time. And if you get sick … well, we’ll deal with it,” Jo said with affection, worried for him.

The pup suddenly stiffened and glared at something, and Eliot allowed himself to be distracted from Jo’s insistence regarding the pills. He shifted a little so that he could see better, and he couldn’t stop the hitch of pain, causing Jo to once more rest a hand on his chest, trying to settle him.

Smiling, he saw the pup’s stumpy tail stick out like a rod, quivering. Something moved in the dust, and a lizard scurried away, the pup suddenly letting out a sharp bark of fury. Stumpy legs carried his stocky body in a frenzied chase, the bandage not hampering him in the least, and the lizard was seen off with alacrity, heading into a hollow beneath a big stone. The pup nosed about at the hole for a moment or two, growling, and then, satisfied that the lizard wasn’t about to attack his people, he gave a sneeze of derision and limped back to Soapy, who patted the animal’s skinny body and told him he was a good dog.

“He’s like you,” Jo said to a sleepy Eliot, “protective and as tough as buggery!”

“I thought you were goin’ to say small and hairy,” Eliot slurred, the pills already beginning to take effect.

Jo grinned and ran her other hand through Eliot’s hair to sooth him, still worried about the heat in him. Hopefully the fever would abate once the fragment was out of his leg, and he would heal.

“You’ve cut your hair,” she added. “It’s almost as short as you had it the day we found you.”

“Yeah … well … don’t need to keep so much of a low profile these days …” he answered, and Jo felt him begin to relax under her hand, the muscles of his chest not so tense now.

“Eliot … we have to go soon. D’you think you can take it? The drive, I mean? We can still take you to a hospital –“

Eliot shook his head and patted Jo’s hand.

“I got you, darlin’. You an’ Soapy an’ Eff. I had to come home. I … I just … home … safe … no-one else … you keep me safe …”

And before Jo could answer, Eliot was asleep. Tucking him back under the comforter, she sighed and glanced at Soapy.

“He’ll rest now, I think,” she said as she quietly shut the door of the ute after fastening Eliot’s safety belt, making sure it didn’t put pressure on his damaged shoulder. Soapy was crouching down giving the pup a drink of water and a peeled, mushed hard-boiled egg, hoping it wouldn’t upset the little dog’s stomach. He looked up at his wife.

“This old place hasn’t changed much,” he said. “A bit more dilapidated, but still pretty.”

Jo studied the old shack.

“I don’t miss it, love. It wasn’t much of a home, was it?”

Soapy let the pup wander about for a moment to relieve himself, and straightened.

“Not really. But you still haven’t sold it, old girl. Not even after forty years.”

Jo shook her head.

“I don’t know if I ever will.” She started as though shaking something out of her memory. “Now then, Soapy Munro! Let’s get our boy home. Effie will be fretting herself into an early grave, so she will.”

Soapy gave his wife a kiss, gathered up a cheerful pup, and loaded both of them into the ute. Sliding behind the steering wheel, he started the engine and slowly turning the vehicle around, he headed back to the gate and the long road back home.

To be continued …


	3. For Want of Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bloody wounds, a bit of puking, lots of fluffiness and not much else. Oh, and pup with a mind of its own.

* * *

Jo dozed fitfully as the ute rumbled its way along the Stuart Highway, her hand once more resting on Eliot’s chest. But even as she dozed, she could feel the heart of him … the strong heart that had kept him going, had saved his life so many times, and was fierce and full of the wolves his Cherokee ancestor had gifted him.

He was theirs, this lonely man who had seen and done so many terrible things. He belonged to them, and he had come home to the people he loved … to the place that filled his soul and rang true within him, the distant, aching song of the outback which drove him to return whenever he could.

She knew this was the reason he had risked everything to get back to them. It was the stupidest thing he had ever done, the fool, and he had risked his life far more by doing so than if he had stayed in America and sought some kind of medical help there. He had his contacts, she knew, but then … why hadn’t his team helped him? Jo knew he trusted them. At least, she had thought so. Until now.

Eliot muttered and Jo eased fully awake, leaning forward to check his condition. It was obvious Eliot was dreaming, caught in delirium that led him down the dark path of reliving something in his confused mind.

“Dis … disarm the bomb!” he rasped, and his eyelids fluttered, the memories taking him. “Parker?” he asked, and suddenly Jo could feel the stress in his words. “Parker?? Hardison?? Did … did you do it? Some … somebody … _did you disarm the bomb??_ ” He twitched and his hand suddenly flailed, and Jo caught it before he could move too much. “Are … are you … where are you _, dammit!_ ” he demanded, and Jo held his hand tight as Eliot grasped her fingers as though his world would end if he let go.

Jo soothed him as well as she could, rubbing his knuckles with her thumb and her other hand resting on his forehead, smoothing back sweat-drenched hair.

“Easy, boy … it’s okay …” she whispered, and Soapy glanced over at the recumbent Oklahoman.

“How’s he doing?” he asked as he drove, the sun now high in the sky. They were still a long way from home and they were both scared that Eliot’s condition was deteriorating far too quickly.

“Actually …” Jo answered, quick to ease Soapy’s mind, “he’s resting a lot easier than I thought he would, love. He’s just a bit feverish is all … but a _bomb??_ He stopped a _bombing?_ ” She turned back to Eliot and she saw his eyes open blearily to gaze at her. “Dear Lord, laddie, what have you got yourself into?” she finished, not expecting an answer, but Eliot’s mouth quirked lazily as he realised where he was.

“S’okay, Jo … it’s done with … safe … everyone’s safe …” he rasped, and squeezed her hand.

Jo’s eyes widened, and she stared at Eliot, suddenly understanding what he was saying.

“I heard something about a bomb threat over the radio a couple of days ago!” she gasped, and poked Soapy in the shoulder. “Remember? Some … some terrorist threat in Washington! I thought it was the military who dealt with that!!” she gently cupped Eliot’s face. “Was that _you?_ You stopped a terrorist attack??”

Eliot shifted and winced, but his smile was warm, despite the haze of fever in his eyes.

“Hardison, Parker an’ me. Spanish ‘flu.” He swallowed, his throat dry, but it seemed he wanted to tell her about the incident. “Parker … she figured it out. Flamed the virus. Pretty damn’ clever, huh.”

Jo nodded even as she tried her best to keep him still and resting.

“But you got _shot_ , Eliot! You should have stayed, you berk! What on _earth_ possessed you to come home –“

Surprisingly, Eliot turned his face away, and Jo knew then something was wrong. Something was going on, and for the life of her she couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Just … just had to,” Eliot rumbled, and she felt him shudder. “Comin’ home … that’s what made me do it … I … I wanted to come home …”

Soapy’s hand suddenly appeared to rest on Eliot’s chest, and Jo leaned over to kiss the hitter’s hot forehead, and then and there Jo decided that whatever was going on, they would sort it out later, when Eliot was healing and the fever gone. The pup nudged her elbow and he worked his way under Jo’s arm to snuggle against her, sighing noisily.

Shaking her head with frustration, she leaned against the reclined seat which cradled the wounded man, and letting the pup crawl onto her lap she gazed through the windscreen at the straight, endless road ahead of them. Beyond the glass was home, where warmth and love lay, and Effie would fume and fret and Eliot would have to put up with more pain, but in the end Wapanjara would work its magic and Eliot would heal and come back to them whole and well.

* * *

Soapy stopped again at Elliott service station to fill the tank, and Eliot slept through the whole thing. If anyone had looked at the figure reclining in the front passenger seat, it appeared the man was sleeping off a hangover, a beanie pulled low over his eyes and head propped on a cushion. No-one took any notice whatsoever.

Jo took the pup for a toilet break and a sniff about, and ten minutes later they were back on the road.

Eliot surfaced from a feverish doze an hour later, and told Jo he was thirsty and his stomach was a little queasy, and then his face turned ashen.

Soapy managed to pull the ute over with only seconds to spare. Jo exited the vehicle at a run, bowl in hand, and opened the passenger door just in time. Eliot managed to sit up, leaned out of the door and threw up, violently and messily, Jo keeping his hair out of the way and murmuring soft words of sympathy.

Eliot, in pain and stiff as hell from lying too long, swore roundly even as he gulped in air, trying to ease the agony of his protesting wounds.

“ _I hate those friggin pills!!_ ” he hissed, and as Jo cleaned up the mess and wiped his face with a cool, wet cloth, he leaned back in the seat, white as a sheet and feeling as though his innards had turned inside out.

“Well, to be fair,” Jo said, “it’s been hours since you took them. Somehow I think it’s just a little car sickness, Eliot, not the pills. And think about it – you’ve managed to get some sleep and you’ve not been so sore, now have you?” she added, not unsympathetically.

Eliot glared at her.

“I ain’t got car-sick since I was three years old an’ my dad drove me across a ploughed field in a tractor! It’s those damn’ _pills!!_ ” he growled weakly and coughed, flinching.

Jo felt his brow and frowned. He was like a furnace. She checked her watch. They had nearly four hours to go until they were home at Wapanjara, and although Eliot was holding his own, his fever was rampant and now his stomach was rebelling at the stress of it all. She knew he would refuse more pills, so he was just going to have to deal with the pain.

Soapy was suddenly beside her with a bottle of water, and between them they cajoled, nagged and wheedled until Eliot drank most of it, the Oklahoman grousing all the way, for which Jo was very glad. If he had the strength and the clarity to complain – and Eliot was a master complainer – then he was managing the situation.

The pup wheedled to be let down and while he rootled about for a few minutes under a bush, stubby tail sticking out as he nosed around, Soapy dug out the two bags of ice cubes he had bought at the Elliott service station and placed in their now-empty chiller-box. Jo quickly stuffed a couple of handfuls of icy cubes into plastic sandwich bags and eased them under Eliot’s arms, which made him curse even as he shivered, but she knew it would help to lower his temperature a little.

Soapy retrieved a protesting pup from under an acacia and passed him to Jo, who shut Eliot’s door and eased into the back seat, the pup licking her face enthusiastically, bandaged paw patting at her as he snuggled into her side.

“Ready, son?” she asked Eliot, who nodded shakily and held out a hand to Jo. She clasped it tightly and Eliot smiled to himself, closing his eyes and relaxing as well as he could.

“Eff … she’s gonna be pissed at me, huh?” he whispered huskily, and he heard Jo’s snort as Soapy started the engine and eased the ute back onto the asphalt, the lonely reaches of the highway disappearing into the hazy, endless distance.

“You have no idea!” Jo said, and squeezed Eliot’s hand as it lay on his chest, her touch keeping him grounded. “You’re in big, big trouble, young man. You know that, don’t you?” She felt more than heard Eliot’s soft, pained laugh. “I just wish I could let her know we found you and that we’re on our way home!”

Eliot let out a grunt as he tried to move, but Jo scolded him, and he let himself be gently chided as he coughed before speaking.

“There … there’s a cell ‘phone in my backpack,” he rasped, “should be enough juice in the thing so’s you c’n call home.”

Jo couldn’t stop a hitch in her breath as she heard the yearning in Eliot’s voice, but she eased her hand out of his fingers and rummaged through the backpack beside her, finding the small burner ‘phone. Eliot haltingly told her how to switch the contraption on, and pressing the speed-dial number Eliot gave her, she put the ‘phone to her ear and waited.

* * *

Effie was washing dishes in her cavernous kitchen. She had thrown out the last of the crew after lunch, and was trying her best to keep herself occupied. Worry was eating her up from the inside out, but she had to admit to herself it wasn’t working.

Mister M and the Missus should have found the Yank by now, but she had no way of contacting them to find out. She sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve, soapy water splattering over her brightly flowery apron. Her boy was hurt, she knew, but how badly, she had no idea. Why had he come home to Australia if he was badly hurt? They had hospitals in that bloody country he came from, so why not get help there instead of risking his life making his way home? Effie dearly wanted Eliot back where he belonged … with _them_ , with his family where he could rest and sleep and heal, but, _by God_ , she was going to slap him silly over this bleedin’ escapade, the boofhead!

She pulled out the sink plug and watched the water drain away, swirling and frothing, and she thought about the first time Eliot had come to Wapanjara. She knew that if Jo hadn’t patched him up he would have died, she was sure. In the six years since his entry into their lives, he had come home when he could, and always, during the first couple of days, hung around the homestead like a bad smell, eating her out of house and home and draped over his recliner on the veranda, talking to his people and winding down from whatever it was he’d been doing.

But now … he was coming home because he was hurt, and Effie couldn’t bear the idea of him alone and wounded, making his way back to them until he had managed to call and ask Jo and Soapy to go and fetch him. The daft bugger!! If he bled all over his sheets she’d have his guts for garters, the bodgie, and –

The telephone rang in the living room and Effie stirred from her ponderings, but a voice called through from the veranda.

“I’ll get it!!” Alice Jakkamarra sang out as she hurried into the living room and lifted the receiver from its cradle. Wapanjara hadn’t yet moved on to cordless telephones, so Effie stumped through from the kitchen to see Alice listening intently to whoever was on the other end of the line. She swept back her mass of blonde-dark curls and turned to Effie, her dark eyes huge with worry.

“Oh, _thank God!_ ” she said, relief washing through her as she turned to Effie. “They’ve found him!” she added, “here, Eff – I’ll go tell Charlie before he bursts a blood vessel!”

And as Effie took the receiver, Alice ran from the house, down the veranda steps and headed for the barn where Charlie was trying to keep himself distracted by fixing one of the tractors.

“Missus??” Effie growled. “Is he –“

 _God, Effie! It’s so good to hear your voice!_ Jo’s voice was awash with relief. _He’s alive and we’re about four hours away! Can you get the office medikit prepared and his bed ready? He, ah …_ there was a pause as Jo prepared herself _… he’s shot, Effie. Our boy’s shot. Twice_.

Effie’s heart almost stopped.

“Bloody hell!” she whispered. “How bad –“

_Bad enough. One through the shoulder and one in the leg. There’s a fragment in the leg wound we’ll have to remove, but I think, with care, he’ll do well enough. He’s running a fever though._

Effie cursed.

“The bloody idiot!!” she rasped, furious with relief. “Tell that silly shite that when he’s back on his feet I’m going to kick his Yank arse all the way from here to bleedin’ Adelaide and back, so help me!!”

 _Nah_ , Eliot’s voice, weak but amused, answered her, _you wouldn’t do that to a wounded man, now would ya?_

But now Effie’s dander was up.

“Damn your eyes, you young dingo! What the hell d’you think you were doin’?? I’m going to whack you so bloody hard, laddie, you won’t be able to see bleedin’ straight for a ruddy _week!!_ Blood all over the place and the Missus havin’ to dig bits of bullets out of you??? Why the hell –“

_Eff?_

Effie wasn’t about to be distracted in full flow, but the tone of Eliot’s voice hit a chord in her heart.

 _“What??”_ she snapped, scowling.

 _I love you too_ , Eliot said, and she could almost see the soft smile on his face.

“ _You cheeky young bastard!_ ” she snarled, and as she said it a tear ran down her pudgy cheek.

 _Effie, listen …_ it was Jo speaking now, and Effie dabbled the tear away, knowing she had to pull herself together because Eliot needed her. _Can you make up his bed, and ask one of the lads to fetch some more pen and strep from the vet cabinet? Eliot’s already had one shot, but he … he’s pretty sick, Effie. He needs us. Oh, and I would be really, really grateful for a hot meal after we get him settled. Soapy … he’s driving twelve hours straight, and …_ Jo’s voice broke, and Effie’s heart broke right along with it.

“Don’t you worry, Missus – we’ll be ready,” she rumbled, “and I’ll ask Jacko and Chalky to come and help get the bugger into the house. Oh, and Charlie and Alice are back home, so we’re all set. Just come home to us and we’ll patch the drongo up and you and Mister M can take it easy. I’ll take it from there.”

Jo made a noise that Effie knew was a small sob of relief, and then Eliot’s voice was in the background, and Jo’s sob turned into a gentle laugh.

 _Hang on …_ she murmured, and then Eliot was speaking, and Effie heard the pain in every syllable.

 _Eff … listen … I got you somethin’. A present. I … I think you’ll like it._ She heard him take a shallow, shaky breath. _It’ll be good to be home, Effie. I had to come home_.

“Yes … well … you just behave yourself, you jumbuck, and don’t upset the Missus, and we’ll get you sorted fine and dandy, laddie! Y’hear me??”

Eliot’s voice was a whisper, but she heard every word.

 _I hear you_. He took a deep, painful breath. _M’ comin’ home, Eff. Comin’ home._

And as Jo rang off, Effie still heard the yearning in Eliot’s voice echo through her.

“Right, you silly old cow,” she told herself as she placed the telephone back in its cradle, “get a ruddy grip!” She stumped through to the veranda and saw Alice and Charlie trotting back to the house from the yards, eager to hear about Eliot. “CHARLIE!!” she bawled. “HE’S HURT BAD! WE NEED PEN AND STREP!!”

Charlie immediately skidded to a halt, turned, and ran back towards the barn office where they kept the locked veterinary cabinet, but Alice ran up the veranda steps.

“What can I do?” she asked breathlessly.

Effie pulled herself together, frowned and gestured at the young aborigine.

“Righto, girlie – come with me. I need to wash down the kitchen table and then we lay out the big medical kit. The Missus … she’s going to have to dig a bullet out of the boofhead!”

“Oh … _bugger!!_ ” Alice said.

* * *

Eliot Spencer came home to Wapanjara just as the sun dipped below the horizon, the distant hills blue-black in the encroaching night. The ute rumbled down the incline from the stringybarks, past the ancient gum tree that marked the entrance to the homestead, and came to a halt by the veranda steps.

Jo stroked Eliot’s cheek to stir him, and he gasped awake, tamping down a groan.

“We’re home, son. And we have a reception committee!” she added with a sigh of pleasure.

The ute was suddenly surrounded by Wapanjara’s crew of stockmen and jackaroos, about a dozen of them, all there to help if they could and to make sure Eliot was carefully carried into his home. They all knew him and liked him, the respect for their Yank and fellow stockman tapping into their loyalty to a friend. If the Yank was hurt then he needed help, and the Boss and his Missus had driven all the way to Darwin and back to rescue him, so they would do their bit.

Jacko Smith, Wapanjara’s scruffy little head stockman, helped Jo out of the ute, eyeing the pup which lay sound asleep on a cushion on the back seat.

“Easy now, Missus … there ya go … you look whacked. We’ll get the Yank out of the ute, don’t you worry!” He gave Jo a gap-toothed smile, and nodded reassuringly. His sidekick, Chalky Perkins, was holding the driver’s door open for Soapy and he leaned forward and took the pastoralist’s elbow to support him as Soapy groaned at the stiffness in his joints.

“Bloody hell, Boss! You look done in!”

Soapy nodded, his eyes gritty with tiredness.

“That’s about right, Chalky. It’s been a bloody long drive. Can you give Jo a hand to get Eliot out of the ute?”

Chalky’s lean face was a picture of concern, but he grimaced and left Soapy to his own devices as Eliot’s door was opened and hands reached out to help.

Jo was there in a second, cajoling and directing, her own hands touching Eliot’s good shoulder to tell him he was safe. It was as he was very gently extricated from the passenger seat, held carefully by the crew and his head supported by Jo, when Effie stumped onto the veranda with Alice in tow.

Effie couldn’t stop a small murmur of distress as she saw Eliot’s lax body, face sheened with sweat and eyes closed, cradled by burly stockmen who held him as though he was more precious than a jewel.

“Oh crikey, Effie!” Alice whispered, and she clutched Effie’s arm in shock.

“It’s alright, girlie,” Effie reassured her despite her own feelings of terror at Eliot’s condition, “the Missus will put him right, you’ll see …”

And then Charlie was there, lending his strong hands to the job of carrying the man he regarded as a brother through the veranda screen doors and towards the entrance to the house.

Eliot, hearing Effie’s voice as though from miles away, tried to struggle a little so that he could reach her, but all it did was earn him a flurry of curses from the crew who held onto him as firmly as they could without hurting him.

“Eff …” Eliot’s hand waved in the air and Effie caught it as he was carried past, and just for a moment the men stood still, letting Eliot connect with the little cook.

“Shut up, you drongo!” Effie hissed even as she held his hand in both of hers, “Look at you!! You’re a ruddy bleedin’ mess!!” she continued, completely unaware of the accuracy of her curse. “Just you wait until –“

“Eff …” Eliot repeated, and his eyes sought hers, and she could see the desperation in the blue gaze. “Eff … I got you somethin’. Got … got you a present …”

But before Effie could rain down a deluge of deeply worried threats on Eliot’s head, Soapy was beside her, and in his arms was a small, sleepy, grubby pup with a bandage on its leg.

“See?” Eliot murmured, happy now that he could give Effie her gift, “found … found a pup! Jo said I could give it to you. He’s a tough little fella.”

Effie, momentarily confused, let go of Eliot’s hand and suddenly found herself with an armful of terrier puppy, which had by now woken up properly and was trying to give his new human a flurry of sloppy licks.

“See?” Eliot whispered to Jo, who gestured to the crew to carry Eliot into the house. “Told you she’d like him.”

“Hush now,” Jo was all concern and love, “be still, boy. Let’s get you patched up, clean, and into your bed, hey?”

Effie, a little bemused, was left standing on the veranda as people flowed past her, all intent on taking care of Eliot, and she held up the pup to get a better look at him.

Clasped carefully around his middle, the puppy stared at Effie’s pudgy face, his black eyes full of intelligence and stubby tail wagging, and he let out a small bark of delight.

Effie blinked.

“Well now,” she said to the pup, who wriggled happily at the attention, “you’re a grubby little bugger, aintcha?”

The pup squeaked and yipped an answer, and despite her worry for Eliot, Effie smirked at the lack of fear in the little canine. He pedalled his legs as though trying to get closer, so Effie clasped him to her chest, and the pup licked her stubbly chin.

“Cheeky little bastard,” Effie mused, charmed by the puppy’s personality. “I bet you’ll bust some chops when you’re bigger,” she added, and the pup gave a couple of chewy growls as he tugged at the edge of Effie’s apron. She patted him clumsily. “Yeah …” and then she came to a decision. “Buster. That’s what I’ll call you, you little shite. _Buster_. How’s that?”

Buster batted at her with his bandaged leg, obviously approving of his name, and gave Effie Buster-kisses.

“Enough of that, you hairy little monster!” Effie scolded, and wiped saliva from her chin. “C’mon – I’ll get you fed and bedded here on the veranda while the Missus sorts out the Yank. You stay here, you mongrel, until he’s fixed up. Y’hear me? And no barking, you noisy little tyke!”

Buster didn’t understand the words, but he did understand the tone, so he settled down and waited to see what would happen next.

* * *

Eliot groaned as he was placed on Effie’s huge old kitchen table, over a century old and made of oak, and he cursed under his breath as his leg straightened.

Jo eased a cushion under his head and then clapped her hands.

“Righto, you lot!” she said firmly, “Out! I need room and you’re all just cluttering up the place!”

Jacko nodded, ready to lead the crew back out to the veranda, but he hesitated for a moment and chewed his lip, resting a hand on Eliot’s booted right foot.

“If you need us, Missus …” he said hesitantly, “ … or if the drongo starts playing silly buggers and you need us to hold him steady ..”

Jo looked at every face turned towards her, and saw in each one concern and the need to be there for her, and she wiped away a tear with the heel of her hand.

“I’ll give you a yell, I promise,” she said, grateful beyond measure for their care. “Jacko … all of you … thank you. Thank you so much!”

And on every face was a shy smile and a hesitant nod, and a dozen rough, hardy men used to the hardships of the bush and the itinerant life of the stockman shuffled out of the kitchen to the veranda, where to a man they found somewhere to sit and wait for Eliot to make it through the next couple of hours.

Effie waited for them to leave and then stumped into the kitchen followed by Alice, who was tying her mass of hair back with a scrunchie. The young aborigine then pulled up a stool and perched herself next to Eliot’s head, easing off his beanie and very gently carding back his sweat-soaked hair.

“Hey, brother,” she smiled, eyes warm with love, “what bloody daft mess have you got yourself into this time?”

Eliot heard Jo open the massive medikit from the office and begin to sort through the things she would need to remove the metal fragment from Eliot’s leg, and he shuddered internally at the prospect, but he plastered a smile onto his face and leaned his head into Alice’s palm.

“Got shot, sweetheart,” he mumbled, and sighed painfully. “Don’t worry though … I’ll be fine. Jo, she … I’ll be _fine_ ,” he repeated, just too tired to continue.

Effie finished washing her hands and put her big kettle on to boil as well as two big pans of water. “Righto, Missus,” she rapped out, “I’ll have water for you in a minute or two, and then we can sort this daftie out, hey? What d’you want me to do?” She stared at Jo expectantly.

Jo looked at the two women in front of her and the wounded man sprawled on the table, and gathered her wits about her. It was time.

“Effie, can you give me a hand to get his clothes off him, and Alice? Grab yourself a pair of nitrile gloves and hand me what I need. Eliot told me there’s a bullet fragment in his leg, so I’m going to have to dig for it.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “It … it’s not going to be pleasant, and he’s going to feel it I’m afraid. I have nothing to kill the pain.”

Being unpleasant was an understatement. Once Jo and Effie had Eliot stripped down to his boxers, they tackled the shoulder wound first. Alice had never seen a bullet wound before, but she swallowed bile and dealt with it, helping Jo cut away the bandages and gauze and once more thoroughly cleaning both the entry and exit holes and treating them with topical antiseptic before Effie helped them re-bandage the wound, Eliot cursing breathily every inch of the way.

By the time Jo was taping up the end of the bandage he was shaking like a leaf, his chest stuttering with pain, and Alice sat back down beside him and crooned soft words of love in _Warlpiri_ , telling him that his family worried about him and that he was an idiot. Eliot grimaced and bitched quietly to himself, but Alice just smiled and stroked his brow and told him to shut up, and Eliot said something rude in _Warlpiri_ and lapsed into silence.

Jo changed her nitrile gloves and Effie rolled up a big towel, easing it carefully under Eliot’s left knee so Jo could see the wound in his thigh more easily. Eliot grunted as pain shot through his leg and hip, but he dealt with it.

“Okay, Eliot. I’m going to go after that fragment,” Jo explained, resting a hand on Eliot’s chest to keep him still, “and I think it’s lodged against a nerve.” She took a deep breath and continued. “In which case, it’s going to hurt like buggery and I can’t do a damn thing about it. Do you want me to go get Jacko and a couple of the lads? You have to be still, my lad, and I can’t expect you –“

“Go ahead,” Eliot croaked drily, his throat feeling as though it was lined with nails, “I can take it.”

Jo patted his arm.

“I know, son … I know. I wish you didn’t have to though. Effie … “

The little cook leaned against the table and grasped Eliot’s good hand, and nodded.

“Don’t worry about us, Missus – the Yank and me’ll be just fine.”

Jo cut away the bandage and soaked off the gauze stuck to the open wound, blood oozing from the ragged hole. The flesh was badly swollen from Eliot’s efforts in digging out the bullet, and Jo knew she would have to cut into the hole and widen it so she could probe for the fragment. She unwrapped a sterile scalpel and told Alice to do the same with forceps, and she was ready.

“Hold him, Effie,” she ordered, and opened up the wound with one cut.

Eliot shook violently, but didn’t utter a sound. Effie braced his arm and shoulder, and as Jo began to probe for the fragment, she felt Eliot unconsciously turn his face towards her. So she settled down beside him on Alice’s stool and gathered him awkwardly to her, his face buried in her shoulder as Jo probed hard, searching for the elusive fragment.

She felt more than heard the keening groan of agony against her chest, and she held him tight, feeling his arm clutching at her back, and the heat of fever in him frightened her witless.

“Dammit, this thing’s deep!” Jo muttered, and Alice leaned against Eliot’s hip, trying to keep him still. “The flesh has swollen around it and - yes!! There it is!!” she hissed with triumph, and within seconds the fragment clattered into a bowl. But even as Jo extracted the fragment, she frowned. “Effie, hold him tight will you … there’s something else in there …” and she once more delved in the wound, and this time Eliot’s back arched in roaring pain as Effie hung onto him for dear life.

“Bloody hell, Missus!” Effie grated, but Jo wasn’t listening. She was concentrating on delicately probing in the wound, and she ‘tsk’d’ to herself, but even as she worked Eliot suddenly became limp in Effie’s arms and the little cook, tired and stressed, finally panicked.

“Missus!! He … he’s …” she gasped, Eliot’s head lolling and his eyes closed.

Alice reached over to help Effie lie Eliot flat, but Jo stopped her.

“Torch, Alice! Quick!” she ground out, and Alice dug out Soapy’s old torch from a drawer, switched it on and angled the bright beam into the wound. Something gleamed creamy white in the bloody muscle of Eliot’s thigh and Jo zoned in on it like a sniper. It took her only moments to remove the sliver of bone, and dropped it in the bowl beside the bullet fragment. “Done!” she crowed, and grinned at Effie, whose face was pale with fear as she held Eliot’s unconscious body in her arms. “Don’t worry – he’s just passed out, Effie, and a good thing too! At least he didn’t feel that last bit. The damn bullet must have just creased the bone and lodged against a nerve. No wonder he was in so much pain.” Jo stripped off the bloody gloves and replaced them once again with a clean pair, and rested a hand on Effie’s shoulder. “C’mon now …” she said, feeling for the old cook, “ … it’s all done with, so let’s get him stitched up and give him a bit of a wash. He’ll feel better, and we can get him in his bed, hey?”

Effie, wordless for once, just swallowed nervously and let Eliot rest back on his cushion, smoothing back hair from his forehead.

Alice, tidying up all of the bloody detritus and shoving into a bag, looked up at Jo, her visage a little green around the gills but coping with it, and smiled wanly.

“He was _shot_ , Jo! Is … is he in trouble? I mean … do we have to find a way of keeping him safe –“

Jo shook her head and began to put some stitches in Eliot’s leg wound.

“No worries, lass. He’s not in trouble. In fact,” she continued as she snipped the suture and went to the next stitch, “he stopped a terrorist attack, would you believe. A bombing. In Washington DC. He and that team of his. But why he came here with two bullet holes in him, I have no idea, other than he just wanted to come home to us.” She sighed. “I don’t know … there’s something not right, I’m sure. I mean … why come here and not get help in the States? He could have died _en route_ , the silly bugger!”

Effie scowled ferociously.

“They dumped him, Missus!” she ranted quietly, “I’m bleedin’ sure of it! He’s been with ‘em five years and I bet the bastards dumped him ‘cause he was hurt!”

Jo shook her head as she worked.

“Now, we don’t know that, Effie!” she scolded gently, “that girl, Parker … Eliot said she was the one who defused the bomb … it was full of the Spanish ‘flu virus, and he seemed pretty impressed.”

Effie’s scowl deepened

“Yeah, well, he would, the bludger. But they’re not exactly on the side of the law, now are they, and a man with two bullets in him would hold ‘em up! If those buggers dumped him, by God, Missus, I’ll … I’ll …”

“Eff … Effie …?”

Eliot’s voice was weak but clear. Effie stopped her tirade and was beside him in a second, her muddy eyes glistening with tears as she touched his shoulder.

“I thought you was dead, you drongo!” she grouched, pressing gingerly on his shoulder as he tried to shift his damaged frame. “Stay still, dammit! The Missus dug that bit of metal out of you and found a bone chip in there, so no wonder you were bloomin’ sore! So don’t move while we get you nice and tidy, and then it’s bed for you, my lad! And you bloody well stay there until the Missus says you can get out of it, and you eat, sleep and don’t give me or the Missus any argy-bargy, you young mongrel! Understand??”

Eliot, woozy, fever-ridden and feeling like death, smiled softly and coughed.

“Yabbies!” he muttered, eyes closing as he began to relax despite the throbbing of his wounds, “c’n I have yabbies … garlic … maybe some catfish an’ a salsa salad …”

“Cocky young arse!” Effie complained happily, and pursed her lips. “I’ll think about it, but only if you do as you’re told and stay put!”

Eliot huffed a soft laugh.

“Deal,” he said.

* * *

Buster had had his fill of doing the rounds of the stockmen moping around on the veranda, and while he had enjoyed the scratches and ear-rubs, his nose was twitching at all of the strange smells in this new place, enticing and bewitching, and he ambled about until he found the open veranda doors.

Unnoticed by the worried ringers, he stood and looked out into the night, his stumpy tail rigid with excitement. He had eaten well and had a sleep in his new, cosy bed, so now he was ripe for adventure. It took him a few minutes, but he managed to carefully work his way down the veranda steps, his bandaged leg hampering him a little, but it didn’t stop his determination to explore his new world.

Once he reached the red dirt of the homestead yard, he began to follow the intriguing, mysterious smells of the outback. There was no road noise here, and he had only been surrounded by the overpowering smells of oil and rotten food in the place of his birth, so these new scents made his acute terrier nose twitch.

He heard rustlings in the undergrowth and noises in the trees, and everywhere was the smell of living things, none of which he recognised. He wandered a little along the side of the veranda, and at one point found several somethings undulating along a branch. They looked tasty so he tried to eat one, only to spit out the yellow-and-black striped caterpillar because it tasted awful.

Buster sneezed in disgust and glared at the caterpillars, but something moved out of the corner of his eye, and he immediately forgot his discomfort and limped in the direction of a big, sturdy fence beyond which stood an old mulga tree.

His ears pricked at a sound he had never heard before. Whatever was making it wasn’t human, he knew. It was a strange, mournful squeaking, and it came from far above Buster’s head. Now he was intrigued. Crawling under the heavy gate, he followed the strange noise, and then his sharp hearing caught human voices, including the sounds of the one who smelled of pain and blood and the old one who had given him his new name. But the squeaking was louder now, and then he heard a deep, frustrated gurgle.

Dropping his nose to the ground, he followed a new smell which seemed to be associated with the squeaking thing, and he was so intent on following the scent he didn’t see a huge, brown shape looming over him. The smell was _overpowering_. Before he knew it, a huge, flat, two-toed and hairy foot was right in front of him, and it shifted, setting up a puff of dust and nearly squashing Buster into terrier-pulp.

The pup yipped and managed to skitter out of the way, but his sense of outrage was instantly roused, and letting out a bark of fury, he flung himself at the foot and bit it as hard as he could.

 

To be continued …


	4. Shout of the Stormy Winds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: A sick hitter, a complaining camel and two older people deeply in love, so nothing but tooth-rotting fluffiness, I’m afraid.
> 
> Eliot’s fever-dream is based on a scene from 'The Snow Job'.
> 
> Warumungu and Warlpiri translations at the end of the chapter.

* * *

The wind was beginning to rise from the north-west as Jo appeared at the doorway, and the stockmen rose as one, all faces turned expectantly and not a little fearfully to her slender frame silhouetted by the light from the hall.

Jo smiled, tiredness etched in every shadow of her lean face.

“I need some help to get Eliot into his bed,” she said, and the sighs of relief made her heart ease. “The bullet’s out, he’s had more antibiotics and now we wait for the fever to break.” She paused for comments, but each man kept his silence and they all moved forward, eager to help in any way they could.

Jacko gestured at four of the stockmen who were roughly of the same height so that Eliot wouldn’t be jarred or feel unsafe as he was carried to his room, but Chalky Perkins stuck his hands in his pockets and shuffled from foot to foot.

“Missus … if you don’t mind … we’ll go do our evening chores and then we’ll be back. Y’know … in case you need help with the Yank.”

Jo nodded, touched by the kindness of their crew.

“Thanks, Chalky. And I know none of you have had any dinner yet. Once we get Eliot settled, I’ll see what there is –“

“No worries, Jo,” Alice appeared in the doorway, drying her hands on a towel. “Effie has a big lamb casserole in the oven, so all we need to do is to boil some taters and there’ll be plenty to go around.” She grinned wearily. “There’s even cheesecake for afters. We had to do _something_ while we waited for you to bring that idiot home.”

Jo sighed with relief. Trust Effie to make sure there was food for them all. She was about to head back into the kitchen when Soapy and Charlie clumped up the veranda steps after putting away the ute and checking on a cow with an abcess in its hoof, Soapy glad to have something to distract him from his exhaustion and Charlie just trying to deal with his worry about Eliot. The young station manager looked especially grim, and Jo knew the two men had been discussing Eliot’s condition and his reason for heading home despite his injuries.

“Before you ask,” Jo said as Soapy opened his mouth to begin a barrage of questions, “he’s clear of the bullet and stitched up, and the boys are going to put him to bed. He’s very sick, sweetheart. But I think he’ll come right with plenty of love and care.”

“Well, he won’t want for that, at least,” Soapy ground out. He rubbed his eyes. He could barely focus, tiredness beginning to overwhelm him now that the adrenaline has worn off. “What can I do?”

Alice moved to one side as the stockmen headed into the house, and she reached out to hug Soapy, pulling him into her grasp and holding him tight.

“Now then, Mister M,” she instructed, “you sit down here on the veranda, and I’ll get you and Jo something to eat before the pair of you fall down. Effie’s dealing with Eliot, so he’s safe and sound for now.”

Soapy nodded, barely able to keep his eyes open, and Alice gently pushed him down into one of the deep, comfortable old chairs which sat willy-nilly on the veranda. His bones ached as he relaxed, and he let out a murmur of discomfort, making Alice frown. The 24-hour round trip had been punishing for the man, and Alice, who regarded Soapy as the father she never had, fretted about him. She loved Soapy and Jo dearly. She crouched down beside him and patted his hand.

“Sit tight,” she whispered affectionately, “I’ll bring you some tea, and then you can eat some casserole. Effie, Charlie and I will look out for Eliot for a bit, so no worries, y’hear?”

Soapy tried to smile but for some reason the muscles of his face wouldn’t obey, so he just gave a jerky nod and relaxed back in the armchair.

“Alice? Go take care of Jo for me, will you? She’s the one who’s had the rough end of all of this, not me. Taking care of Eliot and –“

Alice glared at the old pastoralist firmly.

“Now don’t you worry about Jo,” she scolded kindly, “once Eliot’s settled I’ll make sure she rests and eats, and then you two go to bed and we’ll watch over that idiot Yank.”

Soapy, already half asleep, rested his head on the back of the seat and let his joints loosen, the ache drifting through tense and exhausted muscles. Alice was right. Eliot was safe and the bullet fragment was out, and now all their boy had to do was beat the fever and heal. He was home, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

Eliot was eased gently into his warm, clean bed and propped carefully on soft pillows so that his wounded shoulder was supported. Another pillow was placed beneath his left knee, and instead of his usual blankets Effie tucked him beneath a thick, light comforter so that it didn’t lie heavily on his battered thigh.

He heard the murmur of loved voices, and in the fever-muddled recesses of his mind Eliot knew he was safe and cared-for, and if the nightmares would just leave him alone, he could maybe rest and his damaged body would mend.

The pain was still bad, but now it was a fresh, sharp pain, not the dull, thudding ache of untreated infection and the agony of the fragment lodged in his leg. He thought for a moment that he had something to tell Effie, but he was damned if he could remember what it was, and he ran his tongue over chapped, dry lips. _God, he was thirsty!_

He couldn’t really recall if he said anything, but as if by magic something was gently pressed to his lips and as he opened his mouth a rivulet of the coldest, most delicious water he had ever tasted in his life trickled over his tongue and he swallowed, feeling it make its way down his throat, cooling the thumping heat in his very bones.

“Can you manage some more, laddie?” a voice said, and he thought it was Effie’s and he nodded, blindly searching for the rim of the glass. More water followed, icy and luscious, and he swallowed several mouthfuls, murmuring in protest as the glass was taken away. The voice came again, rough with worry. “Little and often, or else you’ll puke, and I’ll be damned if I’m cleaning up after you!” It was then Eliot smiled, fever-ridden and sick as he was. He didn’t have to worry because Effie was taking care of him, and he could let go and sleep and if he had nightmares she would chase them away.

A soft gurgle came from the open window, drifting in on a cool, rain-scented breeze, and then the gurgle turned into a worry-ridden series of silly squeaks.

“Ger … Gertie …” he mumbled, and the squeaks turned into a soft hum. His girl was here, and she would stand guard outside his window as she always did when he was ill or hurt.

“Bloody camel!” Effie grumbled, but she didn’t shoo the enormous dromedary away from Eliot's bedroom window which overlooked Gertie’s paddock seven feet below. All Effie could see was a pair of prehensile velvet lips and a long tongue doing its best to reach into the room to give Eliot camel-kisses, but in reality all Gertie could do was rest her chin on the sill and hope Eliot noticed her. She could smell the coppery scent of blood and the sickness in her friend, and she changed back to her squeaky concern, shuffling her big feet trying to find an angle where she thought she might be able to work her way further into the room.

There was a sudden flurry of movement at her feet and then, unbelievably, something _bit_ her. Letting out a surprised bawl, Gertie skittered around and then the unseen something _growled_ at her as it let go of the tough hide of her off-fore foot. Whatever the thing was it had not been able to break the skin, but it had _hurt_. Gertie, not in a forgiving mood because she needed to protect her wounded friend, lowered her head and searched around for her assailant in the glimmering night.

Chomping her jaws wilfully, she searched with her one good eye, ignoring the commotion above her coming from Eliot’s room, and saw movement under the veranda. Letting out a roaring belch, she charged at the white blur in the dark.

* * *

Gertie’s bawl of pain roused Eliot from his semi-conscious daze and alarmed, he struggled to sit upright, only to find his right arm immobilised and strapped to his chest. Undeterred, he tried his best to fling the comforter off his body so that he could sit up and find out just what the hell was going on. But he didn’t allow for Effie’s determination in keeping him in his bed, and strong hands settled on his good shoulder, pushing him back down.

“Bloody hell, you bodgie, lie still, will ya??” she rumbled in irritation.

“ _Dammit_ , Effie!” Eliot roared feebly, “Gertie’s hurt! There … there’s someone out there … get … get Soapy an’ Jo … safe … gotta make sure everyone’s safe …”

Effie had no time to pander to Eliot’s chronically over-developed sense of protectiveness, not right now, and she dropped her bulk down on the bed beside him, effectively preventing the American from swinging his legs out of the bed. Eliot, blue eyes glazed with sickness and worry, cursed roundly even as Effie very carefully eased him back against his pillows as the sound of voices came from Gertie’s paddock.

Effie didn’t have the heart to tear a strip off the wounded man, and her eyes softened in sympathy.

“Now then, Yank! Less of this nonsense!! The Missus will tear you a new arsehole if you bust those stitches, you daftie, so lie easy! Y’hear me???” The affection in her voice belied the harshness of her words, and she smiled as a flurry of puppy barks echoed from the window. “Looks like Buster’s met that mangy camel of yours,” she added, amused. She heard Gertie give out a snort of discomfort, and then came a defiant puppy-sneeze.

Eliot, groggily realising that Wapanjara and its people were not under attack, reluctantly allowed his body to relax as Effie tucked the comforter around him, and he shivered.

“Feel crappy …” he muttered and his eyes closed, trying to evade the golden light of the lamp on his night-stand which made his head thump with pain. He shivered, and Effie wrung out a damp cloth which had been soaking in a bowl of iced water. She gently wiped his face free of sweat, and Eliot scowled at the chill.

“Yeah, well, considerin’ you have two bullet holes in you and you flew ten thousand miles bleeding like a stuck pig, I’m not ruddy surprised,” Effie growled as she re-soaked the cloth, folded it and placed on Eliot’s forehead. “And then, you bloody idiot, you had a twelve-hour drive in a ute to deal with. Bloomin’ stupidest thing I ever saw!”

But Eliot only half-heard her. He desperately needed to sleep, and now he knew that no-one was attacking the homestead he could let go and drift into the encroaching darkness. Effie sat next to him for a couple of minutes, making sure he was settled, and then she carefully eased the comforter around his shoulders and under his chin. She shook her head and sighed. This idiot American would be the death of her.

“Boofhead,” she said with feeling, and settled herself in her rocking chair to watch over him through the darkening night.

* * *

Buster was on the rampage.

He heard the bawl of this huge, hairy thing which skittered to one side as he let go of the fold of skin he had managed to nip on its enormous foot. So he scooted under the veranda as fast as his bandaged leg would let him and turned, hair bristling along his spine and stubby tail rigid with anger. Letting out a series of ferocious yips, he bounced around, snarling fiercely, and raged at the creature as it dropped its massive head down to his level, chomping and snorting as it searched for him, bottom lip flapping and spittle flying wildly.

Buster was not impressed _at all_. This titanic, smelly monster was obviously out to murder and then devour the humans Buster now regarded as his tribe, and the little terrier had no intention of allowing this beast to get anywhere near them, so as the ugly creature snorted through the steel girders which held up the house and veranda, Buster seized his chance.

Darting forward, he latched onto Gertie’s flapping lip and gave it a hard nip before letting go and shooting back into the shadows.

Gertie let out a snorting grunt of surprise and shook her head, the pain making her take a few steps back as she felt the sting of Buster’s needle-sharp puppy teeth.

Moke, the elderly stock horse who was Gertie’s companion when Eliot wasn’t home, wandered over to see what all of the commotion was about, and Buster set up a series of frenzied yips as the old horse nosed at him through the supports. Moke, far too used to yappy dogs and not in the least interested in all of the uproar, lopped her ears and watched as Charlie and several of the stockmen arrived at a run, alarmed by the noise.

Buster, thoroughly pleased with himself, sat down out of harm’s way and gave a mighty sneeze of satisfaction.

For the next five minutes confusion reigned as Charlie hunkered down and checked Gertie’s bitten foot, which carried the marks of teeth on it but no obvious wound. Gertie squeaked mournfully and licked Charlie’s neck, telling him that she had been attacked for no reason whatsoever by some small, white devil, when all she was trying to do was protect Eliot. Charlie sympathised, noticed the tiny bite mark on her lip and told her she was very brave and that she wasn’t about to die from her injuries. Gertie mumbled pathetically to herself and glowered at the pup, hoping Charlie would yank its hairy backside out from the safety of the supports so that she could squash it to a pulp.

Buster, watching all of this uproar with bright black eyes, huffed happily to himself until Charlie reached through the supports, caught him by the scruff of his neck and hauled him out of his hiding place.

Holding the pup around his middle so he could look him in the eye even as Gertie snorted and gurgled her protests, Charlie scowled at the little canine.

“You’re a bloody troublemaker, you are!” he said grimly, and Buster panted happily, knowing he had done his job well. He had scared off the monster, and this new human obviously adored him, he could tell. He licked Charlie’s nose. Charlie tried very hard not to smile. “C’mon, you little terror! Back to the house with you.” He tucked Buster under one arm and pushed Gertie away with the other. “And no more noise, you big hairy nuisance,” he added softly. “Eliot’s sick, so keep the racket down or I’ll lock you in your humpy.” Charlie knew Gertie hated being shut in her shelter. Buster glared at Gertie, knowing he had won this particular battle, and then growled at Moke as she nuzzled at Charlie’s pocket.

“Oh, all right then!” Charlie said softly, and pulled out two carrots, giving one to Gertie and the other to a very happy Moke. The old mare was very fond of carrots.

Gertie inhaled her carrot and then returned to her job of checking on Eliot, resting her chin on his windowsill, but this time she was quiet, knowing her friend was very ill.

Charlie left her to it, and giving Moke a pat, he made his way back to the paddock gate where Jacko and a couple of stockmen waited for him.

Jacko scratched Buster’s head, making the pup wriggle with delight.

“He’s a tough little bugger, ain’t he? Fearless little blighter!” he said with more than a touch of admiration.

“He is that,” Charlie replied as they made sure the paddock gate was firmly fastened and then headed back to the house. Charlie pondered the day they had had, and clasped Buster’s warm body to his chest, oddly comforted by the pup’s presence. “Bloody awful day, Jacko. And it’s not finished with yet.”

Jacko took off his hat and scratched his head.

“Too right, mate.” He glanced at the young aborigine. “The Yank got _shot_ , Charlie. Some bastard shot him, and he’s bloody lucky the Missus and the Boss got to him in time.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “Did he really do what the Missus said he did? Stop a bombing?”

Charlie nodded wordlessly.

Jacko’s china blue eyes widened.

“Bloody hell!” he said with awe, and as he had often done over the years, wondered exactly what it was Eliot did for a living.

* * *

It was late evening by the time the crew reluctantly went back to their quarters, full of Effie’s good food and reassured by Jo that Eliot was holding his own. Only Jacko remained, sitting quietly on the veranda, unwilling to leave in case he was needed. He stretched out on one of the old chairs, tipped his hat over his eyes and began to doze.

Buster, much to his disgust, was given a bath. Alice said he stank, so she took off his bandage, and careful of the cut on the pup’s leg, gave him the scrubbing of his life in the big bathroom sink, the pup miserable and whimpering, and then towelled him dry. He spent the next ten minutes doing his best to wipe off every drop of water onto any piece of furniture he could find, horrified at being wet. When Alice finally managed to catch him, she gently put a fresh bandage on his leg, gave him a little supper and closing the veranda door so that he couldn’t escape, left him to his own devices.

Soapy and Jo were slumped on the couch in the living room, drinking hot chocolate. Both were unwilling to go to bed, but they knew they would have to because they were exhausted. Jo leaned her head on Soapy’s shoulder, eyes blinking wearily.

“Eliot … he’s going to be alright, isn’t he? Tell me he’ll be okay, Soapy. Please?”

Soapy nuzzled her silver-auburn curls and kissed her softly.

“He’ll do, old girl, you know that. Now you’re second-guessing yourself, and you know very well that once the fever breaks he’ll mend well enough.”

Jo sighed and nodded, reassured by Soapy’s solid presence.

“Yes, love … I know. You’re right. But his fever’s high. I’m worried to death that it’ll go even higher and he’ll seize, and -“

“Effie will nip that in the bud, Jo, so stop worrying! He’s on hefty antibiotics, and Effie’s watching him like a hawk. You know she’ll give you a yell if he gets even slightly worse. Anyway,” he added with a rueful smile, “Eff would kill him if he died.”

Jo snorted with amusement, despite her worry. She knew Soapy was right, and that Eliot would heal. The fever was not as high as the one that nearly killed him six years previously, and this time his constitution was good and he would fight back. The next couple of days would tell them how he was doing, and Effie was hovering over him like a mother hen. Jo yawned.

“Come on then, you old wreck,” she told her husband. “I’ll check Eliot and then I think we should get some sleep before we keel over, hey? Effie will wake us if we’re needed.”

Soapy drained his mug of hot chocolate and eased his weary body onto unsteady feet. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so tired. Holding out a hand, he pulled Jo upright and straight into his arms, landing a deep kiss on her soft lips. His Jo. The light of his life. Jo melted into his kiss and smiled around it. Trust Soapy to allay her worries. She loved him more than life itself.

“Now then, Mister M. Let’s check our boy and then get to bed, hey?” she murmured, hugging Soapy tightly.

Soapy waggled his eyebrows suggestively, which made Jo chuckle.

“Well, I’m not one to turn down an invitation to bed from a beautiful woman, now am I?” he asked, gazing into her beautiful green eyes. “Love you, old girl. Always have … always will.”

Jo reached up and cupped Soapy’s lugubrious face in her hands, running her thumbs over his cheekbones, familiar with every line and plane of his face.

“You’re a silly old bugger, Soapy Munro,” she whispered softly, “and I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

Soapy perked up.

“Righto, Missus!” he replied, tired but happy. “To bed!”

And slapping Jo on her backside, which made her giggle, he took her empty mug and made his way into the kitchen. Washing both mugs he heard Jo head for Eliot’s room, and he smiled to himself. Eliot was home, hurt and ill but safe. The frightening journey to Darwin and back was over, and the bullet fragment and unexpected bone sliver were both out of Eliot’s leg. The antibiotics were powerful and effective, and although the American would have a rough time of it, Soapy was sure that the man would heal and recover from the ordeal.

Leaving the mugs to drain, he wearily wandered out of the kitchen and peered around Eliot’s door, always left ajar when he was damaged so that Jo could keep an eye on him. The Oklahoman was sweating and obviously feverish, but he saw the calm in Jo’s eyes as she checked his temperature.

“How’s he doing?” Soapy whispered from the doorway.

Jo tucked a lank strand of hair back from Eliot’s eyes and looked up at her husband from her place beside the bed, Effie leaning forward anxiously from her rocking chair.

“No change, but it’s early days, sweetie. At least his temp’s not gone up, which is a relief.” Jo rested a hand on Effie’s arm for a moment to calm the old cook. “Are you sure you can –“

Effie scowled at Jo as she wrung out the cloth and once more laid it on Eliot’s brow. He muttered a little but soon settled.

“Go to bed, Missus!” she rumbled quietly, and Gertie squeaked softly from the open window, even as a far distant rumble of thunder came from the remote Northern reaches of the Tanami Desert. “Me and that bloody camel’ll keep an eye on the boy, don’t you worry.”

Soapy felt something brush past his leg and little Buster puttered quietly into the room, the pup now spotlessly clean and smelling aromatically of Eliot’s expensive tea tree shampoo. Tired and full of good food after an exciting day, he sat at Effie’s feet and pawed at her. The cook lifted him onto her lap where he snuggled into her and promptly fell asleep.

Effie relaxed back in her chair, petted her pup and studied Eliot.

“Go to bed, you two. The Yank, Buster and me – we’ll be fine.”

Gertie gurgled, and Buster rumbled to himself but didn’t awaken.

“Yes, alright, you smelly bugger!” Effie added testily. “You too!”

Gertie squeaked.

Jo wandered over to Soapy and took his hand.

“C’mon, husband of mine. Effie hath spoken, and I’m knackered.”

So Soapy followed his wife, and within ten minutes they were sound asleep, spooned against one another and knowing Eliot was in safe hands here in the place he loved with people who loved him. But even as Jo drifted asleep in Soapy’s arms, she wondered again why Eliot had risked so much to come home.

* * *

Eliot was seething, angry as all get out, as he watched Nate dismiss the fact he had just given the mark one hundred thousand dollars of their money and then commenced telling the team it was a stall and that they should trust him.

Uncoiling from the chair in their hotel room, he stalked over to Nate who sat gazing at him, unfazed and with that ever-so-slightly-insane gleam in his eye and probably half a bottle of whiskey already under his belt.

The ensuing argument had been short but vicious, even as Eliot found he couldn’t stand upright and the oppressive heat in the room was making his head swim, although it didn’t seem to be affecting anyone else. He shook his head, trying to clear it, but his shoulder exploded in agony and then his left leg was threatening to give way and dump him on the floor.

He had had enough of Nate’s asinine behaviour and he turned towards the door, but the movement hurt so much he couldn’t stop a grunt of pain. Curiously, none of the team seemed to notice. Nate stood up, a sneer on his handsome face.

“You know … you talk too much,” he said, lip curling in derision. “You ought to just go skip some rope.”

Eliot’s head snapped up even as he felt the perspiration prickle over his skin. He leaned on a chair to stop himself from falling over, and he gritted his teeth to fight the pain. Hardison was _smiling_ , for some reason, and Parker stared at Eliot with something akin to pity. Sophie moved between Nate and Eliot to try and ease the tension, but even she only had eyes for Nate and when Eliot staggered slightly she showed no signs of caring whether he lived or died.

Eliot leaned more heavily on the back of the chair, trying to take the weight off his injured leg and vaguely wondered how he had been hurt, but his eyes glittered dangerously as he did his best to hold himself straight.

“You want … you want me to _skip_ something?” he ground out, his voice raspy with dehydration. Nate stared back, eyes bright with triumph as Eliot continued, his voice shaky now. “I’ll … I’ll skip your … your drunk ass … off this marble floor –“

And as Nate and the rest of the team turned away from him and silently left the room, Eliot stumbled and fell, and as he lay there on his back, his shoulder refusing to work and his leg on fire, he felt hands on him holding him down and they didn’t belong to the team who had mysteriously abandoned him. They wouldn’t do that, he thought. They would _never_ do that. So why had they left? Darkness encroached and for some reason he could smell jasmine, although he knew it didn’t grow around the hotel, but suddenly, as though from nowhere, there came a voice.

“Easy, laddie,” it said, and for the life of him Eliot didn’t know why it made him stop struggling, “it’s just a fever dream … stop it now … I won’t be havin’ any nonsense from you, you idiot, so breath, alright? You’re safe. _You’re safe_.”

And as Eliot managed to free his good hand from the comforter the gentle pressure on his body stopped and two pudgy hands caught his, holding tight and telling him he wasn’t alone any more.

“Eff … Effie … they left,” he whispered, and Effie freed one of her hands so she could rest the back of it on Eliot’s brow, feeling the heat coming from him. “Nate … all of ‘em … gone …”

“Shit!” Effie murmured to herself, and she felt anger crawl through her gut. She was right. Those bastards had _abandoned him_. Alice appeared at the door and sat down on the other side of the bed, resting a hand on Eliot’s bare shoulder.

“Bloody hell!” she said, alarmed. “He’s burning up! Should I get Jo?”

Effie shook her head as she hung onto Eliot’s hand, making sure he knew where he was.

“Nah. Not yet. But go into my room and bring out my big electric fan, girlie. That should help cool him down a bit, and I need some more iced water. Let’s see if we can get some fluids in him.”

Alice stood up to carry out Effie’s request, but she hesitated for a moment.

“Listen … Eff … let me take over for a couple of hours and you can try and get some sleep. Charlie and I can look after Eliot for a bit.”

But Effie gazed at the man lying in the bed, sweating and riven with nightmares, and shook her head.

“Nah. Not movin’. The stupid bugger needs me,” she added doggedly, and glanced at Alice, her muddy eyes a little watery. “Go on now! He needs that fan, and you can help me make him drink because he’s a stubborn shite.”

And Alice Jakkamarra did as she was asked, touched by Effie’s dedication and love for the battered man who had made his perilous way back to the only home he knew.

* * *

It was in the wee hours of the night, as thunder crept closer and the wind made the gums and almond trees bend to its will, when Eliot drifted awake, disorientated and very thirsty.

The house was quiet and his room was softly illuminated by his bedside lamp and he sensed a presence, the sound of breathing making him turn his head carefully. Effie was sitting in her rocking chair beside his bed, spectacles perched on the end of her nose as she read one of Eliot’s books, purloined from his small bookcase beside the door. A fan whirred softly in the semi-darkness, making his room blessedly cool. He knew he had a fever, and the heat of it heat trickled achingly through his frame.

“Um …” he said croakily, and Effie looked up from her reading matter, a book on the regional food of Guadalajara.

Placing the book on the nightstand, she wordlessly lifted a glass of iced water and helped him take hesitant sips until he had had enough.

“Could you manage some broth, laddie,” she whispered, trying not to disturb Buster, who was lying under Eliot’s bed, sound asleep and dreaming of chasing camels.

Eliot thought about it and nodded.

“Little bit,” he answered, and tried to sit up, but Effie pushed him back, scowling.

“Stay put, you nerk. If you want to sit up I’ll get Jacko or Charlie, alright?”

Eliot thought about it and realised he couldn’t do it on his own, so he nodded and relaxed back onto his pillows.

“Soapy and Jo … are they okay?” he asked, and winced as his leg throbbed.

“Sleeping,” Effie answered as she refilled his glass. “Completely buggered, poor sods, but … you’re home, Yank, where you should be. Away from those – “ she paused, and reluctantly put away the feelings of hatred for Eliot’s team. Now wasn’t the time. She sighed. “Anyway, you’ve two bullet holes in you, you daft sod, and you’re running a fever, so you’ll stay in your bed until the Missus says you can get up.” She stared at Eliot, and he saw the worry in her eyes. “You got _shot_ , you idiot!”

“Yeah …” he whispered, “yeah … I did, didn’t I?” He quirked a smile. “Sorry.”

Effie snorted. The man was incorrigible.

“Right, boy … rest easy. I’ll find someone to help you sit up and I’ll get some broth for you. So be still until I get back, you daft bastard!”

Eliot, barely able to keep his eyes open, grinned.

“Ain’t … ain’t goin’ anywhere, Eff. I couldn’t even if I tried,” he said, and knew the truth of it as the fever flared through him.

Thirty minutes later, he was sitting up a little and being fed broth, Effie holding the mug because she didn’t trust Eliot to manage on his own. She had no intentions of having to wash broth out of his sheets.

Charlie sat on the bottom of the bed, Buster on his lap, absently petting the pup as Buster dozed happily. He studied Eliot critically. He saw the sheen of perspiration on the man’s skin and the feverish glaze in his eyes, and the bandages around his shoulder and chest were white against the pallid skin.

“So … what happened, Eliot?” he asked.

Eliot, swallowing a mouthful of Effie’s delicious beef broth, tried taking a deep breath, but it hurt too much. He eyed Charlie.

“Pretty simple really,” he rasped and tried to shrug, which was a bad move and he hitched a breath at the pain. “Stopped a bombing … got shot … came home. That’s it.”

Charlie pursed his lips.

“That’s it, hey?”

Eliot gazed at him steadily.

“Yep.”

Charlie hitched an eyebrow.

“Bollocks,” he said.

Eliot let out a chuckle which turned into a painful cough which sent him back into his pillows, gasping.

Charlie realised he had pushed too hard, so he eased Buster’s limp, twitching body onto the bottom of Eliot’s bed and stood up.

“Okay. So that’s the way it’s going to be, _papparti_ , huh. Look, Eliot … you could’ve died, you sod, and …” Charlie realised his voice was on the rise, worry in every word, and he saw Eliot’s eyes close. _Easy, Charlie_ , he said to himself. _He’ll tell you when he’s ready_. “Never mind, brother. Rest. Heal. We can talk when you’re on the mend.”

Eliot let out a weak grin. He was already drifting, exhausted and a little nauseous, and he reached out to clasp Charlie’s hand.

“We … we’ll talk, Charlie Jakkamarra of the _Warumungu_ …” he said. “Promise.”

Charlie sighed and shook his head.

“You’re a bloody pain in the arse, Eliot Spencer of the _Aniwaya_ ,” he grumbled, and he heard Effie’s grunt of amusement.

But by the time Charlie let go of Eliot’s hand, the hitter was asleep.

“Sleep, _papparti_ … sleep and heal,” he said under his breath, and tucked Eliot’s arm back under the comforter. He glanced at Effie. “He is healing, right?”

Effie shrugged.

“The fever’s bad but it ain’t getting any worse, which is something. We’ll know more when the Missus checks him in the morning and changes his bandages.” Effie watched Eliot so intently Charlie thought the old cook was sure she could heal him with willpower alone. “Charlie … he had this nightmare … a bad one … and then he told me they left. Those bastards he works with _left him_.”

Charlie felt his stomach churn. So _that_ was the reason Eliot risked his life to return to Wapanjara. He gritted his teeth and was about to say something rude when Alice swept into the room with more iced water and a towel. She spotted the look on Charlie’s face and knew instantly what was bothering her husband, so she deposited the water and towel on the nightstand and turned to wrap her arms around him, squeezing tight. She looked up at him.

“Don’t go off the deep end, Charlie,” she warned calmly, and kissed his cheek. “Now, _kali-nyanu_ , let’s leave Eliot to rest. Effie … do you need a break?”

“I’ll have a quick dunny-break, girlie, but just leave me be.” She brightened for a moment. “A cuppa would be nice. And a bikkie?”

Alice gave Charlie another squeeze and then smiled at Effie.

“No worries.” She reached out and touched Effie’s arm. “He’ll get better, Eff. You know that.”

Effie hesitated and then nodded.

“Yeah … s’pose.” Her eyes were suspiciously moist. “The daft bodgie got himself _shot!_ ”

Alice eased herself out of Charlie’s arms and kissed Effie’s chubby cheek.

“One cuppa and bikkies coming up!” she proclaimed, and off she went to make a pot of tea for them all including Jacko, now drowsily awake on the veranda and still determined to be there for his friend.

Charlie raised an eyebrow at Effie as she stood up to head for the bathroom.

“We’ll find out, Eff. And if those people he calls his team _did_ dump him ‘cause he was hurt, then by crikey they’ll pay for it.” He rested his hand on his chest where the marks of his tribe lay. He was the Kurdaitcha Man of his people, the man who carried out the law of the _Warumungu_ , and there were ways to deal with betrayal.

And as the first raindrops fell, drumming on the roof and annoying Gertie, who hated being wet, Wapanjara held its breath and waited for its prodigal son to recover from his injuries and tell them exactly what had happened to him.

 

To be continued …

* * *

 _Papparti_ – _Warumungu_ for ‘big brother’.  
_Kali-nyanu_ – _Warlpiri_ kinship term for a woman’s husband.

And in case you’re wondering, a ‘dunny’ is a toilet.


	5. Was the Long Night Weary?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: Eliot’s second fever-dream in this chapter is loosely based on the ‘death scene’ in The Long Goodbye Job. Not canon time-line compliant.
> 
> As always, any Warumungu and Warlpiri translations will be at the end of the chapter.

* * *

 

It became a day of sudden torrential downpours and cooler temperatures. As the dawn lightened, dull and dank, Buster sat on the veranda and watched the raindrops bounce off the yard surface, his eyebrows beetling at the noise of the rain on the veranda roof.

The big hairy thing hadn’t appeared again, and was no longer at the hurt human’s window, which made Buster think that perhaps the beast had learned its lesson and run away into the enticing and mysterious land around the homestead.

But he would stay alert and make sure it didn’t come back and try and eat his tribe, so he decided to patrol the veranda. He had water and a comfortable bed made from one of Effie’s old wash baskets, and he was fed regularly for the first time in his short life. So, in return, he was now these people’s guardian, and _nothing_ would harm them if Buster McPhee could help it.

He stood up suddenly as noise … somebody feebly shouting … came from inside the house, and the skinny little human who had dozed on the veranda through the night scrambled to his feet and dashed into the house. The crazed yelling stopped within seconds, and Buster pondered the situation. This was the third time the man had run into the house to help the one who lay in the bed … the human who had taken care of Buster when he was lost and hurt, and who had kept him safe until the others arrived. So the little terrier instinctively knew that he was to protect this man and the others who lived here, even the one with the mass of blonde-dark curls who had made him have a bath.

Buster cocked his head, listening. The weak yelling had subsided and now all he heard were murmurs of soft, soothing words and gentle care. He peeked through the open door into the hall, and saw the slender woman who had first taken care of him emerge from a room and bustle into the place where the invalid lay. Buster knew this kind lady would make the damaged human feel much better, because she had helped Buster’s bad leg and now it hardly hurt at all. So with the patience of his kind, Buster yawned, scratched his ear with a hind paw, and settled down to wait.

* * *

“C’mon, laddie …” Effie sat beside Eliot on the bed and did her best to bring him out of his nightmare, “ … let it go … “ she muttered as Eliot, eyes wide and seeing things Effie could not even begin to imagine, did his best to fight the little cook’s hands as they lay carefully on his chest and good shoulder, pinning him gently to the bed.

“Gotta … gotta get to them …” Eliot gasped, his voice croaky with emotion, “ … dammit, they’re only _kids!_ ” he exclaimed, and his teeth bared in a snarl. “Touch ‘em, you sonofabitch, an’ I’ll gut you where you stand!”

Jacko appeared and eased past Effie, crouching down to help her stop Eliot from hurting himself. Jo would not appreciate having to deal with burst stitches.

“Where is he this time?” the stockman asked, and Effie shrugged as well as she could.

“No bloody idea. Africa, maybe?” she gritted as Eliot desperately tried to get out of his bed to protect whoever he was seeing in his mind. “I know the poor bugger was in Sierra Leone, trying to help a bunch of girls taken by that bastard Coetzee.”

Jacko shook his head sadly. He remembered hearing about Coetzee from Charlie when Eliot had first arrived at Wapanjara and Mason Coetzee had arrived to kill Eliot, only to meet a gruesome death on the red, ancient soil of the old homestead*.

“Sometimes, Eff, I wonder what the Yank’s seen in his life. God alone knows what he’s seein’ _right now_ , in his head.”

But before Effie could answer, Eliot’s strong left hand grasped Jacko’s arm and hung on, and hazy blue eyes glared at the Australian.

“Don’t you touch her!” he railed. “Her an’ the baby. I’ll bury ‘em. Nobody touches ‘em, hear me?? I’ll take care of ‘em … make sure they’re safe … away from that bastard!”

Jacko glanced at Effie and saw the grimness on her face. He patted Eliot’s hand, not even trying to remove it.

“No worries mate,” he murmured with compassion, “We’ll stay clear. You do what you gotta do, Yank … you look after ‘em both.”

Eliot suddenly relaxed, chest heaving, and his head dropped back on his pillow. His fingers slackened on Jacko’s arm, for which Jacko was very grateful. Eliot, wounded and sick, still had a powerful grip.

“Thanks … thanks, man … gotta do this myself … it’s only right …” he gasped and his eyes shuttered closed. Before Effie could say a word, he slipped back into an uneasy sleep.

Effie sat back and yawned, wiping a hand over her face which was lined with tiredness. She watched Jacko tenderly pull the comforter back around Eliot just as Jo entered the room, still obviously bone-weary but feeling better after a night’s sleep. She rested a hand on Effie’s shoulder, and smiled at Jacko.

“How’s he doing?” she asked softly so as not to disturb the Oklahoman.

“Bit restless, Missus,” Effie replied, rubbing her eyes to clear the blur of exhaustion, “the bloody nightmares don’t let him rest for long.”

Jo lifted the thermometer from the nightstand and managed to cajole an unaware Eliot into letting her slip the business end into his mouth and under his tongue.

“Sierra Leone, I suppose …” she whispered. “It’s often the place he goes when he’s hurt or sick, for some reason. Burying that girl and her baby.” She shook her head. “I can’t even guess at what he’s dealt with over the years.”

“Yes … well … I’m more worried about this blasted fever,” Effie complained waspishly. “I wish the bleedin’ thing would break and let him rest and get back on his feet.”

Jo slipped the thermometer out of Eliot’s mouth and studied it. Her eyebrows raised, and she gave a hesitant huff of relief.

“Well, his temperature’s down a little, so here’s hoping the fever breaks soon. The pen and strep is kicking in, that’s for certain.” Jo grinned. “I have high hopes, Effie … high hopes!”

Effie let out a grunt of satisfaction.

“That’ll do for me, Missus. I’ll see if I can get some grub in his belly after you’ve given him the once-over.”

Jo shook her head.

“Go to bed, Effie. I’m sure between us we can keep an eye on Eliot while you catch up on your sleep. We’ll knock some breakfast together for the crew, and -“

“Not on your life!” Effie’s face was a picture of stubbornness. “I’m stayin’ right where I am. Chalky and Alice can fling some brekkie together for everyone, and you and Mister M … you just rest up. I’m stayin’ put!” She rested a hand on Eliot’s chest. “This stupid bleeder needs me.”

“Oh, for goodness sake, Effie –“ Jo couldn’t help but let her exasperation begin to show.

“Now then, Missus! You check the bullet holes in the boofhead, and then you go get yourself a cuppa. Alice heated up some chicken soup out of the freezer for the boy, and he’ll damn well take it else I’ll … well, I don’t know what I’ll do, but the drongo _will_ get food in him, damn him, even if I have to stick my soup funnel in his gob and pour it into him!”

“Not … not hungry …” came the soft murmur from the bed.

Effie raised a surprised eyebrow.

“You’ll bloody eat and like it, you mongrel!” she retorted, delighted that Eliot was awake and lucid. “Zip yer gob, you young galah, and let the Missus give you the hairy eyeball, y’hear??”

“ _Dammit_ , Effie! M’fine –“ Eliot croaked, peeling open bleary eyes.

“Stop being a brat, Eliot,” Jo used the voice she usually limited to bad-tempered stockmen who had been kicked in the crotch by a calf, “you’re still running a temperature and you’re dehydrated and need the nourishment. You’ll at least try, my lad!”

Eliot did his best to be as grumpy and antisocial as he could.

“Nope. Not hungry. Not gonna.”

Jo wasn’t going to take any nonsense from a man who, for no apparent reason, had travelled ten thousand miles to his home while badly wounded. Clapping her hands together, she was now the brisk, experienced nurse who took no prisoners when it came to awkward patients.

“Time to check your wounds, Eliot. You’re not going to give me any aggro, now are you??”

And before Eliot could gather up enough strength to complain, Jo gestured at Jacko and Eliot was manhandled, fussed over, had his wounds checked and his bandages changed, and last of all came the hated antibiotic injection. Jacko, grinning, helped Eliot ease onto his side and Effie held his hand for which Eliot was secretly very grateful, and the penicillin and streptomycin amalgam was injected slowly into a bared buttock, which left Eliot sputtering with embarrassment and snarling epithets under his breath. Jacko found it highly amusing. If Eliot had the ability, no matter how damaged he was, to take umbrage at something, then in Jacko’s opinion he was definitely on the mend.

Afterwards, his backside aching in protest, Eliot was propped up and Effie helped him sip a mug of her excellent chicken soup, rich and flavoursome and filling his admittedly growling stomach. Afterwards came a glass of sweet juice from the oranges in the tiny orchard behind Jo’s precious garden, and Eliot, full, tired and happy to be home, drifted into a settled sleep.

“He’s still hot, Missus,” Effie commented wearily as she sipped a cup of tea Chalky had brought her as he rattled around in the kitchen preparing breakfast. One thing Chalky Perkins could do very well was make a bloody good cuppa.

Jo sat on the bed beside Eliot and chewed her lip, thinking.

“Yes … well … we’ll just have to wait and see, Effie. I’m pretty sure the pen and strep is hitting the infection on the head, and the fever _will_ break.” She looked at the little cook and thought it was worth trying one more time. “I wish you’d let us take over for a bit, Eff –“

Effie growled stubbornly and settled back in her rocking chair.

“The kettle’s boiled, Missus. You and Jacko go have some tea and Chalky’s cookin’ snags and eggs for breakfast. Young Alice will bring me a butty in a bit. I’m fine just here.”

Jo, exasperated and touched by Effie’s stubbornness, sighed and stretched.

“I’ll go wake Soapy,” she said, “this place won’t run itself. The poor love’s shattered,” she added, concerned for her husband.

Jacko peered out of Eliot’s open window at the rain. He could see Gertie’s rump as she sat in her humpy, the big camel sulking because of the wet weather, which she hated. Moke disdained the humpy and dozed under the old mulga, flicking her tail happily.

“Well, Missus,” he commented, “tell the boss we won’t be doing much today. Not in this weather. There’s a thunderstorm coming and I don’t think it’ll be wise riding out when there’s lightning about. We got feed to mix and some repairs to do on the baler, so we can keep ourselves occupied for a bit. Fixing the North paddock muster yard can wait a couple of days or so. You and the boss take it easy. No worries.”

Jo smiled at the wiry stockman and nodded, quietly relieved beyond belief. Everyone at Wapanjara needed a slow day, and the impending storm meant it would be a restful couple of days for both crew and household. Apart from Effie, who seemed intent on exhausting herself watching over Eliot, and there didn’t seem any way to prevent the old woman from doing so. Their boy was hurt, and it was Effie’s job to watch over him, it seemed.

Standing up, Jo Munro studied Eliot for a moment or two, seeing a frown shadow his wan features. Instinctively Effie leaned forward and touched his brow, settling him. _Well_ , she thought, _if it helps Eliot rest more easily, who am I to tell her otherwise_? Resting a hand on Effie’s shoulder for a second, she squeezed it gently.

“I’ll be back in a bit, Effie. If you need anything, just yell, alright?”

Effie, unable to tear her eyes away from the wounded hitter, nodded vaguely.

“I will, Missus … I will …” she answered, and eased back in her chair.

_Stubborn old bugger._

So Jo smiled inwardly, and headed off for a cup of Chalky’s excellent tea and a good breakfast of sausages and eggs.

* * *

It was mid-afternoon, as the first rumble of thunder crashed overhead and lightning lit up the darkened lowering sky, that Eliot’s fever finally broke.

It happened as he saw Parker bleed out and Hardison’s internal injuries left him gasping his life away, when Parker’s grip finally slackened and slipped from Eliot’s hand. Eliot couldn’t breathe. The bullet that had slammed into his back and torn through his lung as it punched its way through his body had exited his chest in a bloody miasma, and Eliot knew he was dying, but at least he was with people he loved. But they were already dead, and he had failed to save them and –

“ _NO!_ ” he yelled desperately, unsure as to where he had found the breath, “ _no, dammit, you don’t leave me like that!_ You can’t … _you sonsabitches, you don’t do this to me!!_ ”

But the heat became stifling and he couldn’t fight it any more, a pair of strong hands holding him down, and a voice murmured low and sinister, oozing from the walls, but he couldn’t make out the words. A deafening crack made him flinch and flickering white light flared blindingly through his eyelids and he tried to turn away, _but then_ … the heat suddenly … _blessedly_ … eased and was gone, and he could breathe again, sweat prickling his over-sensitive skin and his chest heaving with the relief of it. He coughed, which hurt, but he realised he was lying in bed and not in Lucille’s blood-washed interior with his dead team around him. The gaping bullet hole through his chest had vanished and so had the feel of Parker’s lax hand in his. There was no broken and lifeless Hardison beside him, and that meant … _yeah_ , he decided, that meant it _hadn’t been real_.

A hand lay on his forehead, familiar somehow, and he knew it was Effie. It was always Effie, loyal and kind, who would bring him back from the brink of the abyss of horror which was always just a dream away.

“Eff …??” he croaked, and he began to shiver uncontrollably, the heat gone now and his body chilling under the warm comforter. He had been shot, he thought. Twice. Soapy and Jo had come to save him and Jo had treated his wounds. And Effie … Effie wouldn’t leave him, and he almost sobbed with gratitude because he was home and they loved him.

But then he got colder, dammit … no … he was _freezing_ , and he was about to protest when luscious warmth began to bathe his limbs and a voice started to sing tunelessly beside him. The heat from the wet cloths easing the ache in his limbs was heaven, and he felt the stickiness of sweat being washed from his skin.

“Alice?” He asked, because he was too damn tired to open his eyes to make certain. In fact he was pretty sure he couldn’t move if he tried, and a languid feeling began to creep over him. The song stopped.

“Hush, you idiot,” Alice crooned, and the hot cloth wiped his face, which was wonderfully soothing. “You were having a helluva nightmare and then your fever broke, so Jo, Effie and I are cleaning you up a bit so you feel more comfy.” Alice’s voice became a little regretful as she carded his hair back from his brow. “Wish I could wash this rat’s nest on your head though,” she continued. “I know you can’t stand your hair being so dirty.” Eliot heard a sigh. “Never mind. Maybe we can do something about it tomorrow if you’re feeling up to it,” she added.

A warmed towel, thick and soft, began to dry him off and he let slip a hum of contentment at its low heat, and after the wash he felt the comforter settle back over him. Several fluffy-covered hot-water bottles were tucked around his battered frame, and then Jo’s hand cupped his cheek.

“There now,” she whispered, “Feeling better?”

Eliot managed the ghost of a smile.

“Much,” he rasped, and settled deep into the clean, comforting warmth of his bed. “Jo … m’ sorry. I didn’t mean to –“

“Shut it, you daftie!” Effie grumbled, and Eliot felt something heavier being draped over the top of his comforter. It would be his great grandmother’s Cherokee blanket, he was sure. Even more soft, luscious heat, not the stuffy, uncomfortable aching hotness of fever.

His shoulder and leg still throbbed and shot pain through him if he moved, but now it was tolerable. He was healing. It would be slow to begin with, but he knew he wouldn’t die from his injuries, because he was surrounded by his family and they wouldn’t let him do anything so ridiculous.

Jo’s hand was replaced by a kiss on his forehead, and a weight settled next to him on the bed. Alice was there, his little sister for whom he would give his life.

“You’re a bloody fool, _juka_ , you know that, don’t you?” she said, the words more of a statement than a question. “Don’t you ever – _ever_ – do something like this again, you nerk. Promise?”

As Eliot relaxed and started to drift, he listened to the rain hammering on the roof, and the sweet, heady scent of bottlebrush drifted into his room from the open window. Alice began to hum in her tuneless way, a faint, beautiful _Warlpiri_ lullaby, centuries old, and Eliot smiled drowsily, his good hand easing out of the bedding to reach for Effie. He felt pudgy fingers lace in his, and he held them as tightly as he could.

“Promise,” he mumbled, and fell instantly asleep.

* * *

The day after Eliot’s fever broke his natural tendency to complain resurfaced, and Effie, satisfied he wasn’t going to expire on the spot, ignored every snarl, grouch, curse and snark, and proceeded to fill Eliot full of good, nutritious morsels and lots of juice, intending to fortify his damaged body and compromised constitution.

On the second day, weak as a kitten and just about as useless, Eliot tried to get out of bed. He managed to sit up, growled in triumph and then nearly passed out as his shoulder and leg decided to let him know he was going absolutely nowhere, the agony jarring through him. The muffled yelp alerted a now-rested Effie, who hobbled through from the kitchen and stood in the doorway of Eliot’s bedroom, smirking nastily and not helping him in the least.

“You’re a silly bastard,” she rasped happily. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Dammit, Effie! Help me out here, will ya?!” Eliot retorted, hurting and very annoyed with himself.

Effie arched a critical eyebrow, surveying the wounded Oklahoman. He looked better. Less like death warmed up, she thought, although his hair needed some attention.

“You look like you’ve lost a fight with a willy-willy,” she retorted and Eliot’s lip curled in embarrassment. He hated it when his hair was stiff with sweat and dirt. It hadn’t been brushed, let alone washed, since the day he had faced Doctor Everett Udall and helped prevent a terrorist attack in Washington DC. “Well, laddie … seein’ as you’ve made it upright, maybe Alice can help you out and give that mop a wash before meeces set up home in it,” she continued. “And if you get water in your bed, you drongo, I’ll slap you silly!”

Alice had done her best. Charlie helped Eliot sit on the edge of his bed, bad leg stretched out, and between them they had very carefully washed Eliot’s hair, although he grumbled that there was less of the expensive tea-tree shampoo in the bottle than he remembered. Alice kneeled beside him on the bed, and while Charlie put the bowl of hot water on a small table and helped Eliot lean over it, she soaped and rinsed and towel-dried Eliot’s thick hair, only spattering a few soapy droplets on the bedcovers. The sheer effort of sitting upright exhausted him, and as Charlie helped him back into bed he was very glad indeed to be lying down, a fresh, thick towel over his pillows to save them getting too damp. He didn’t even stay awake long enough to thank Alice and Charlie for their efforts, which neither of them minded in the least.

The following day found Eliot fretful, fed-up and intent on getting out of bed, so with Jo fussing and Charlie and Jacko supporting Eliot as he hopped through to the veranda, he was installed in his recliner and plumped up with pillows and the comforter. For the rest of the day he slept, read a little and ate whatever Effie put in front of him. He also realised he had unwittingly entered into a war zone.

The rain had finally stopped through the night, and that morning Gertie was let out of her paddock to wander the yard. Moke had other duties for the week, looking after some three-year-old geldings mustered from the North paddock and brought in for worming and a health check. Old Moke, calm and unflappable, was ideal for settling the youngsters down and to get them handy again, ready for breaking.

Gertie, honking quietly with pleasure at being allowed out, wandered along to the edge of Jo’s garden and instantly spotted Eliot. Letting out a throaty _gurk_ of delight, she almost broke into a canter as she lolloped towards him, lower lip flapping and spittle flying.

Eliot’s recliner had been moved to alongside the veranda railing so that he sat in the sunlight, the heat and fresh, rain-scented air cleansing the remnants of fever and sickness from his damaged frame. Gertie, unable to give him camel-kisses through the fly-screening, nevertheless pressed her muzzle against the palm of his hand as he reached out for her. He felt her warm breath against his skin, and he murmured silly, pointless words of affection that only Gertie understood. She squeaked and huffed and mumbled love for him, and Eliot’s heart warmed at being able to let her know he was on the mend.

Peace lasted until lunchtime. Gertie sat down beside the veranda so that she could keep an eye on Eliot, and the injured man rested and allowed himself to drift and be still, his wounds aching as they began to heal.

Gertie roused every now and again and lifted her head, nuzzling at Eliot’s bare foot as it rested against the netting. Reassured that he was still there and breathing, Gertie chomped happily and gurgled, happy to stay beside him.

Buster, however had other ideas. He had spent the morning trailing around behind Charlie and Jacko at the barn, sniffing and yipping and investigating the enticing smells of cattle and feed. He tried cattle cake, which he spat out, and found himself face to face with a mob of stock horses awaiting their breakfast. He stood his ground and barked ferociously, hackles raised and bandaged leg patting the ground as if to tell the fierce creatures to back off.

The noise attracted the attention of Chunk, the yard heeler, and to Buster’s surprise he found himself suddenly nosed-about and investigated as the big, sturdy dog checked out the pup. Chunk usually didn’t tolerate other dogs too well, but this little white pipsqueak was a bit of a curiosity, so he flipped Buster onto his back and sniffed him all over. Buster instinctively did as he was told and waggled his legs at Chunk, and the heeler finally decided the noisy thing was harmless and allowed Buster to stand up.

Buster stared at Chunk, but the big blue speckled dog turned his back on the pup and lay down, yawning. Buster, then and there, decided Chunk was his hero, and sat flat on his backside beside him, panting in the morning heat.

But Chunk was soon called back to work and once more Buster was left to his own devices, not knowing Charlie was keeping an eye on the little dog. But after an hour of nosing about the yards he decided he was hungry and pottered back towards the homestead, his leg aching and his stomach empty. He was investigating an interesting hole at the base of the ancient gum tree which stood beside the homestead gate, when something moved at the corner of his eye.

His head jerked up and his ears pricked, and whipping around to face the house, he let out a deep, thrumming growl which echoed from his chest.

 _It was back!!_ The big, smelly, hairy monster was back, and it was trying to eat the hurt human, pushing its enormous head against the netting of the veranda and emitting strange, threatening noises as it attempted to devour the human from the feet upwards.

Buster launched into a furious, yammering run, hampered a little by his bandage, but he was nothing but a white blur as he sped towards Gertie.

Eliot, dozing in his recliner, woke up a fraction of a second too late.

Gertie, sitting comfortably with her legs folded neatly beneath her, was too wrapped up in fussing over Eliot to notice the encroaching tiny whirlwind of a dog. She flapped her tail to rid herself of an annoying fly, and it was the long, bristly end on which Buster concentrated his ire.

Eliot tried to struggle out of his recliner but his weakened body failed him and he flailed his good hand at Gertie, telling her to ‘ _hut-hut!_ ’ so that she would stand, but it was too late.

“BUSTER, _NO!!_ ” he bawled weakly, but Buster didn’t take any notice.

He took a flying, reckless leap and his small jaws with their pin-prick puppy teeth latched onto the flapping tail.

Gertie let out a pained yarp of protest and scrambled to her feet, but Buster, tenacious guardian that he was, hung on. Gertie tried to whip around to dislodge the irritating and painful thing now suspended in mid-air, legs paddling, still attached to her tail and growling fiercely. But Buster hung on, unwilling to let go even though his small jaws weren’t strong enough yet to sustain his grip. Gertie snaked her head around and gave Buster a gaping honk, teeth bared, and her tongue lolled and waggled, and Buster eyed it even as his grip began to slip.

The stench was appalling, but Buster swung from Gertie’s tail, still growling, and eyed the flapping tongue. Maybe … maybe if he let go he could grab that pink, drooly long waggling thing …

Eliot was once more trying to lever himself to his feet, and this time he managed to stand, grasping the veranda railing and leaning heavily on it to take the weight off his bad leg. Unbalanced and annoyed, he yelled at Buster – uselessly as it turned out – and Effie hobbled out of the house, wondering what the commotion was about.

She hurriedly studied Eliot, unsteady and shouting, and then watched Gertie as she tried to dislodge the pest attached determinedly to her tail. If the situation wasn’t so dangerous, she thought, she would find the whole thing a bloody hoot. She stumped forward to see if she could sort out the two animals, but Buster finally let go and hit the ground with a yelp. He was instantly back on his feet as Gertie whirled around and chomped angrily, incensed at this hairy little pest’s completely unprovoked attack.

But Buster had no intentions of staying still long enough to be mushed into the red earth. He scooted between Gertie’s legs and worried at the tuft of hair on a nearby fetlock, which made Gertie squeak with surprise, but before the huge camel could find the pup Buster was beneath the veranda, safe behind the steel supports.

“ _Dammit_ , Buster!!” Eliot ground out as he tried his best to make his way to the veranda steps so he could somehow manage to work down them to save Buster from a fate worse than death. Gertie was obviously out for blood. “ _Gertie!! Git!_ ” he bellowed, and Gertie, still hunting around for the elusive canine, snorted as she thought about obeying Eliot. But her good manners went out of the window as Buster darted forward between Gertie’s front feet and latched onto the skin above her scarred ankle.

This time the dromedary let out a bawl of frustrated pain. Buster, satisfied that he had quelled the dangerous beast intent on eating his people, let go and managed to scramble his way up the veranda steps and straight into Effie’s waiting arms.

Eliot, hanging onto the railing, sagged against it, shaky with relief, and Effie, tucking Buster under one arm, rested her hand on Eliot’s shoulder.

“Stand down, soldier,” she rumbled, “there’s no harm done, now is there?”

“Shit!!” Eliot grouched, and did his best to straighten without putting pressure on his leg and shoulder, Gertie frantically peering through the fly net at Effie and her triumphant pup. Buster let loose a stream of barks and panted happily as his eyes narrowed, Gertie glaring at him from the yard.

Effie put Buster down and shut the veranda door to keep the puppy contained, and then she gently helped Eliot make his way back to his recliner. Gertie moved with him, her head weaving back and forth as she checked that Eliot wasn’t too hurt, and she squeaked as he settled into his seat, easing back onto pillows with Effie helping him stretch out his bad leg.

Charlie came running around the corner of the house.

“Are you lot alright??” he yelled, and skirting Gertie as she tried her best to clamber up the veranda steps, he hurriedly opened and closed the veranda door, Buster frantically attempting to squirm past Charlie’s legs. “Bloody dog!” he complained, “I thought he was still up at the yards! The little bastard must’ve slipped away when I wasn’t looking!” These last few words had a tinge of guilt about them. He had promised Effie he would keep an eye on her pup, and obviously he had failed to do so. “Sorry, Eff.”

Eliot laid his head back on the old recliner’s head-rest and winced.

Effie lifted the comforter and draped it over the wounded man, and squeezed his good shoulder, and then she scowled at him.

“What the hell were you trying to do, you bludger!” she scolded, “You could’ve started bleeding again!”

Eliot opened one eye and glared at Effie.

“Just tryin’ to deal with the situation,” he rasped, annoyed with his lack of strength. “Gertie … she could’ve killed Buster …”

Effie arched an eyebrow and stared at Eliot.

“Bollocks!” she swore, and clipped Eliot very gently on the side of his head. “Buster’s a tough little bugger and I think it’ll be your bloody camel who’ll have to watch!”

“Gertie can take care of herself,” Eliot muttered, scratching his head, very glad now to have clean hair. Although seeing how Gertie had dealt with Buster’s attack had him privately doubting his own opinion.

“Well, they’ll have to figure it out somehow,” Charlie grumbled, “I can’t spend my time keeping this little tyke –“ he gently nudged Buster with his boot and the pup let a long, pink tongue hang out as he panted happily, “ – out of trouble. He needs work, Eff. At least try and teach him some manners, hey?”

Effie smirked, delighted that Buster could hold his own, although she knew he would have to be taught how to deal with the world around him.

“He’ll learn,” she said, and sat heavily down beside Eliot. Buster ambled over to her and patted at her leg, so she lifted him onto her ample lap and scratched his head. Buster groaned with pleasure and burrowed into her arms. “Bloomin’ little arse,” she added affectionately.

Gertie, foiled from reaching her prey, squeaked piteously and nosed at Eliot, who rubbed her muzzle through the net.

“Wuss,” he said, and Gertie chomped at him.

“Well, something’s going to have to be done – I can’t have these two carrying on like this,” Charlie gritted, although to be honest he did think it was just a little funny. How a tiny white injured pup could get the drop on a huge, hairy camel tickled his sense of humour. He saw Eliot wince as the hitter shifted, trying to get comfortable.

“You okay, mate?”

Eliot nodded, closing his eyes against the sun.

“I’ll do, Charlie. Don’t worry about me. I’m healing.” He gestured at Gertie, who hummed at him. “These two … it’s like me when I joined the team. None of us … we, ah … we didn’t think it would work, y’know? None of us got on … we barely tolerated each other. But it _did_ work. We were all loners … but it kinda began to - “ he faltered, his shoulder twinging. “Anyway … it worked.”

Charlie crouched down in front of Eliot and gazed at this man whom he regarded as a brother.

“Eliot … your team … um … why did you leave and –“

Eliot chuckled softly with just a hint of bitterness.

“Yeah … my team …” he replied tersely. “Things change,” he continued, and managed to rub Gertie’s cheek through the net. “I have some thinkin’ to do, Charlie. When I’ve done that, I let you know, _kukkaji_. About my team.”

Charlie and Effie exchanged glances, but it was obvious Eliot had said all he wanted to say, and both of them wisely decided not to pursue whatever was bothering the man. He was barely back on his feet, and Jo would have their hides if he had a relapse.

Effie tapped Eliot’s arm.

“Righto, laddie. Lunchtime.”

Eliot allowed himself a small smile, and winked at her.

“Yabbies?” he asked hopefully.

Effie scowled, muddy eyes a-twinkle with humour.

“Yes, bloody yabbies, you blighter! And I suppose I’ll have to crack the things open for you, hey? Garlic butter and an avocado and salsa salad. Will that do?”

Eliot managed to reach out and grasp Effie’s hand, and bringing it to his lips, gently kissed it.

“Thanks, Eff,” he murmured. “Thanks for everything.”

Effie’s scowl deepened but she didn’t try and pull her hand away. He had nearly died, the stubborn Yank bastard, and he needed to heal without any stress and hassle.

“Shut it, Yank! Stay put, don’t move and I’ll bring you some lunch, and if you behave yourself, I might manage a lamington for ya!” she retorted, and gently extracting her hand and gathering up a sleepy Buster, she got to her lumpy feet and headed off to make sure her boy was cared for.

* * *

Over the next few days, the issue between Gertie and Buster degenerated into a kind of guerrilla warfare.

Buster’s bad leg was healing, and he began to explore further, but poor Gertie was limited to her paddock where she spent a lot of her time sulking in her humpy. Charlie did his best to keep Buster out of trouble, and the little dog had an exciting couple of days trundling around the West paddock in the old ute, helping Charlie and Chalky repair some fences.

But when he was back at the homestead he prowled the yards and the garden, making sure his tribe was safe. Soapy tacked some chicken wire along the bottom of Gertie’s paddock fence after Buster found his way through and pounced on Gertie from behind. For some reason Gertie’s tail infuriated him, and Gertie stood up with a bawl of annoyance, but she couldn’t turn around in her humpy quickly enough to mash the pesky animal to a pulp.

Even after Buster was hurriedly removed from the paddock, Gertie spent the rest of the day searching the spaces between the steel supports of the house, knowing the annoying canine was apparently using the darkness as a place of ambush.

One late afternoon, as Eliot dozed in his recliner and with Buster asleep at his feet, unable to escape because Alice had shut the veranda door, Gertie was allowed out. For such a big animal, she was almost silent as she padded around the edge of the veranda to check on Eliot.

When she spotted the pup sprawled on his side on the veranda floor, her one good eye gleamed. Whiffling at the netting, she got as close as she could, opened her mouth and let out the loudest, smelliest, belching honk she could muster.

Eliot awoke with a start, swearing loudly. Buster, however, let out a highly undignified yelp of terror, scrabbled to his feet and headed into the house, yipping and with his stubby tail tucked between his legs. He didn’t emerge for the rest of the afternoon.

Gertie, highly gratified and feeling extremely smug, pouted out her cheeks and hummed happily, even as Eliot cursed and told her she was a stinky menace.

But Gertie didn’t care. The noisy little devil had been vanquished, and her Eliot was safe.

From his place under Effie’s kitchen table, Buster grumbled and huffed, and Effie fed him some lamb scraps to mollify him, but the little dog knew it wasn’t over. He was going to protect his people, and to do that, he had to rid the place of the hairy, smelly monster that lived within the environs which Buster now regarded as his own.

 

To be continued …

* * *

_Juka – Warlpiri_ kinship term that means brother-in-law or cousin. It can also mean a ritual guardian, which, considering Eliot’s protective tendencies, would also be fitting.

 _Kukkaji – Warumungu_ , kinship word for little brother.

* Told in _Gertie – Part One_

By the way, _willy-willy_ is the Australian term (originally from the _Yindjibarndi_ people of Western Australia) for a ‘dust devil’, an upward spiraling, dust-filled vortex of air that may vary in height from a few feet to over 1,000. They are usually several metres in diameter at the base, then narrowing for a short distance before expanding again. They mainly occur in desert and semi-arid areas, where the ground is dry and high surface temperatures produce strong updrafts.

 


	6. Insult and Scorn Assail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: Nothing but fluff, lots of shameless anthropomorphising of animals, and the requisite ‘Eliot without his shirt’ moment.

* * *

Over the next two days, the battle became a desperate wrestle for supremacy between a very small, white terrier pup and an enormous, hairy, and _very_ tetchy camel.

Buster was a natural guerrilla fighter. He used every nook and cranny on Wapanjara that he could find as his base of operations, and with a terrier’s infinite patience, he lay in wait for every opportunity he could muster to harry Gertie to distraction.

Her tail became the focus of his vendetta, and whenever he could, he would sneak out of his latest hidey hole and aim as surely as a sniper’s bullet at Gertie. If she was lying down, Buster switched into stealth mode. For such a little dog and also hampered by a bad leg, he would carefully work around behind Gertie until he was face to face with the irritating, flapping tail that he detested so much. And then he would put himself into gear and charge, silent but deadly, and latch onto the long, bristly hairs and shake as hard as he could, growling fiercely.

Gertie, of course, would bawl with impotent fury and do her best to turn him into puppy-mush, but somehow Buster always managed to scoot out of the way and disappear into one of his many refuges.

He hid behind sheets of corrugated iron and down a disused wombat burrow he had discovered beside Jo’s little garden. He treated the entire underside of the house as his own private domain, and to his great delight he discovered he could use possum trails to migrate from one side of the house to the other, and if Gertie was stalking around the house or her paddock trying to find him, Buster would ambush her as she strode past, sharply nip her hairy fetlocks and be gone before she could even turn around.

Gertie, much to Eliot’s consternation, began to look a little hunted and twitched at every loud noise, and her tail was becoming distinctly Buster-eaten, the bristly, once-elegant tuft at the end now looking decidedly threadbare.

When Buster couldn’t get at her tail, he took to pulling out woolly bits from her sides and legs, and during one particularly daring night raid, he even managed to garner a mouthful of soft curls from Gertie’s head while she was napping, and he scurried proudly up the veranda steps and deposited the brown fluff at Effie’s feet.

The little cook, ignoring Gertie’s indignant bellowing, told Buster he was a Very Bad Dog and then slipped him a beef bone.

Eliot, right arm in a sling and now carefully gimping about the place using Soapy’s old walking stick, told Effie her dog was a frikkin’ menace and maybe he should never have brought the little hoodlum to Wapanjara in the first place.

Effie told the Yank to shut his gob because Buster was just trying to be protective, and Eliot would thank Buster one day for being so diligent. Besides, she added, he should keep his bloody camel under control because the smelly bugger used her enormous size to intimidate a tiny, helpless, injured pup.

Jo and Soapy, secretly pleased that Eliot was up and about and feeling antsy, kept their heads down and stayed out of the whole situation, watching the ebb and flow of battle as Gertie honked and roared in frustration and Buster became more entrenched and triumphant. Something had to give, that was for sure.

Things finally came to a head a couple of days after Eliot managed to get back onto his feet.

He decided it was time he pushed himself a little, and slipping off the sling, he grasped the old walking stick and set off slowly towards the ancient tree stump in the almond stand, a place where he often sat and enjoyed the fluting of the magpies and the soft hum of the little sugarbag bees as they went about their business. For Eliot, it had always been a place of ease and quiet … a place where he could think without interruption.

* * *

Buster was busy having his injury inspected and was sitting unhappily on Effie’s lap and beetling worried eyebrows at Jo, who found the cut was a little swollen and red – probably because Buster spent a lot of his time camel-hunting. Jo smiled at the little dog.

“Now then, young man,” she crooned as she very gently applied an antiseptic ointment to the cut, “it would help if you didn’t tear about like an idiot all the time!”

Buster whimpered pathetically, and Effie clutched him tighter around his middle, her face a picture of worry.

“Is he goin’ to be alright, Missus?” she whispered. Fretting over Eliot and now Buster was wearing her down badly, and Jo was far more concerned about Effie than either an idiot Yank or a bossy little pup.

Jo gave Effie a reassuring pat on the shoulder before beginning to put a light dressing over Buster’s wound.

“He’ll be fine, Effie, no worries. He’s thriving, thanks to you, and once he stops trying to kill Gertie, he’ll settle down and put some weight on. He’s already looking less skinny. The wormer probably helped too.”

Buster had not appreciated Charlie stuffing some worming paste down his throat, but it seemed to have rid the pup of any worm burden and he looked far less pot-bellied.

Effie looked down at the pup in her arms and smiled with pride.

“He’s a tough little bugger, that’s for sure!” she rumbled, and Buster, now putting up with Jo wrapping his leg once more in a red crepe bandage, gave Effie a few sloppy licks on her powerful forearm. “And he likes his grub, so he does! Eats like a bloody horse!” Her voice softened. “The Yank did right bringing him home, Missus. The little feller would’ve carked it if the Yank hadn’t found him.”

Jo finished taping the bandage end and patted Buster on his fuzzy head, and the pup heaved a sigh of relief. He investigated the bandage and tried a few nibbles until Effie gently shoved his nose away and waggled a finger at him.

“Don’t you bloody dare, you little bastard!” she scolded, and Buster listened intently, ears cocked. “If you even begin chewing at that bandage, you little shite,” Effie continued, brows drawn down, “the Missus’ll make you wear the Cone of Shame, and you don’t want that, now do you?”

Buster had no idea what his human was saying, but he got the message that chewing at the dreaded new bandage was a Bad Thing. His sore bit was itchy now, and he really, _really_ wanted to mumble at it and stop the itch, but he did as he was told and left it alone. Effie dug out a scrap of pork crackling she had been saving for him and he was allowed down onto the floor. Grasping his prize, he managed to trot clumsily out onto the veranda, intent on taking the chunk of crispy skin into his basket and crunching it into tasty bites. He was just wondering which bit he was going to chew first when he heard a distant honk, and he instantly froze.

Hastily shoving his small hunk of crackling into a crease of his cosy blanket and dapping it in place with his nose, he scrambled out of his basket and peered through the netting just in time to see Gertie’s rear end disappearing along the track to the distant South paddock gate. Buster knew Eliot wasn’t in his room or relaxing on the veranda in his chair, so, he decided, it stood to reason that the Big Hairy Thing was hunting Eliot, who had obviously tried to escape its evil clutches.

Buster growled. He _had_ to save the hurt human from the smelly monster, so he did what small white terriers were destined to do and headed off to save Eliot from a Fate Worse Than Death.

Eliot had unwittingly left the veranda door slightly ajar, so Buster easily pushed his way through the gap, almost tumbled down the steps in his haste to rush to Eliot’s rescue, and once he hit the ground he righted himself and set off at a run, his new, stiff bandage not hampering him one whit. His stubby tail was rigid with anger, and Buster just hoped he got there in time to save Eliot’s life.

* * *

Eliot finally made it to the tree stump and eased down on its worn surface, regretting his decision to take off the sling because his shoulder was aching like a _sonofabitch_. The infection was waning and the swelling around the wound in his leg was abating, but he realised he had probably bitten off more than he could chew with this gentle, short walk to the stump.

But luckily Gertie had decided he needed her and followed, and after gently whiffling his hair and very carefully nuzzling his shoulder and leg, she settled down beside him and burped up her cud, chewing slowly and sedately as Eliot leaned on the walking stick, letting the pain subside a little.

The quiet was just what he needed, Eliot thought. Even the magpies in the almond stand fluted quietly in the balmy breeze, and the cicadas buzzed sleepily, somnolent in the heat. Taking a deep breath, which, _dammit_ , hurt like hell, he thought about the reason why he had come home to Wapanjara.

He knew he had had to get away, to return to the place where he could think through the future and what it held. He felt a little bad for abandoning Hardison and Parker, but he knew they would deal with it. When he was ready he would head back to Portland and face the music, which didn’t worry him in the least. They were used to him tending to his own injuries, although he knew it worried them. They would think he had gone to one of his Stateside contacts, had his wounds treated and then holed up for a while to heal.

He had told Mike Vance that he didn’t want to work for the government once again because he now had his team, and he worked exclusively with them. But even as Eliot had said it he knew in his heart things were changing, and he had to think about the future and what it held for him and the people he protected and cared about. He took another sigh and his pained flinch made Gertie nose at him with concern.

“M’okay, gal,” he murmured and smiled at the huge camel, “I’m healin’ … I promise,” and he put aside the walking stick so that he could scratch Gertie’s jaw, which made her hum with pleasure. She lipped at him, and as always, Gertie’s good humour and gentle heart eased Eliot’s mind. “I got time, sweetheart, I know. It’ll work itself out. Maybe … maybe I’ll come home for good –“

But his train of thought was interrupted by a sudden series of hysterical barks, and frowning, he turned to look towards the homestead. There, flying along the track, ears back and yammering with fury, ran Buster.

Gertie’s huge head swung around, ears pricked, and her one good eye glared at the little dog as he dashed through the trees, the sheer noise he emitted disturbing the magpies, and they flew deeper into the almond stand, clamouring in alarm.

“ _Dammit, Buster!!”_ Eliot ground out and he lifted the walking stick, intending to try and stand so he could intercept the pup’s headlong dash into danger, but the pain in his shoulder and leg prevented any sudden movement and he had to stop for a moment to catch his breath.

But Gertie decided she had had enough of the harassment.

Her jaws gaping in a gurgling bawl, she hoisted her body to its feet and about-turned to face the oncoming menace, removing her badly-chewed tail from danger. She strode beyond Eliot for a few steps and planted her enormous frame in front of him, determined to protect him from this tiny devil of a thing which seemed to appear from nowhere just to plague her.

Eliot somehow managed to get to his feet, swearing and ranting and hurting like hell, and he limped forward and tried to grasp Gertie’s _bosal_ – not the best plan, he discovered, when his balance began to fail and his left leg threatened to collapse underneath him.

Gertie, dithering between squashing the oncoming terror into a grease spot and trying to help her friend who was apparently at death’s door, dropped her head down beside Eliot. Letting go of the walking stick, Eliot did the almost-impossible and wrapped his good arm around the dromedary’s powerful neck and hung onto Gertie with every ounce of waning strength he had. Gertie instantly froze as soon as she realised her human was severely compromised, and was only upright because he had Gertie to support him. The noisy little upstart who chewed her tail would have to wait.

Buster sensed victory.

He swerved suddenly and aimed for Gertie’s back leg. Grasping her hairy fetlock with every bit of fury he could muster, he then began to worry the mouthful of hair, growling deep in his chest to tell the smelly monster its days were numbered because Buster McPhee was here to teach it a lesson it would never forget.

He didn’t quite expect Gertie to lift her hind leg and shake it as though flicking off an annoying fly. With a yelp he let go and bounced off sun-browned grass, rolling into the shade of a spiky acacia, the prickly plant making Buster yarp as his backside met the business-end of a spine. Scrambling to his feet and favouring his bandaged leg, Buster regained his damaged dignity and fixed his gaze on Gertie’s flapping tail.

The thing was an affront, he was sure. It wasn’t even _a proper tail_. His own tail was stumpy and hairy and could quiver with anger, and it wagged when he was happy. When he was having his wound bandaged, he tucked it carefully against his round rump so that the humans could tell he was feeling pathetic and give him hugs and treats. It was his banner … his main conduit of feeling, letting his tribe gauge his intentions or how he felt, which was what all dogs were built to do. But this big stinky creature … why, all its tail did was flap uselessly, no matter what the idiotic animal was up to, and which signified absolutely nothing.

He stuck his own tail out, telling the world he was fierce and not to be messed with, and he charged at Gertie.

Eliot, cursing and furious, finally found his balance and was about to try and bend down to pick up the walking stick, when Gertie spotted Buster. She felt Eliot’s grip loosen as he prepared to drop back onto the stump and reach over for the walking stick, so, she decided, she was free to deal with this tiny, noisy interloper who was obviously going to rend Eliot limb from wounded limb and turn him into dingo fodder.

Letting out a bellow of indignant anger, she began to swing around to face her enemy.

Eliot, unbalanced and flailing, let out a surprised yell as the stump hit the back of his legs and he was sent sprawling over the old wood. The yell turned into a keening groan of agony, and Gertie, hearing her friend in such pain, was gripped by sudden indecision. Should she squish the dog or help her best friend? Eliot won. Gertie snaked her head forward and nosed at the damaged hitter as he tried to catch his breath and drag some much-needed air into his lungs while also dealing with the pain. He couldn’t even curse, which, Gertie knew, was _bad_. A hand flailed and caught her _bosal_ , and with infinite care, she helped Eliot ease his battered body upright even as Buster, hackles bristling along his spine and tail vibrating with fury, attempted to find a way to leap up and grab Gertie’s offensive, flappy tail.

Eliot, chest heaving and shoulder and leg aflame, finally gained his balance and hung on to Gertie, now wheezing epithets under his breath. As Eliot released Gertie so that he could search again for the walking stick, Gertie instantly felt obliged to protect him properly from Buster’s sharp puppy teeth.

“ _NO, GERTIE!! KOOSH!! KOOSH!!”_ Eliot managed to bellow breathlessly, but Gertie, now focussed on her job of protecting him, wasn’t listening.

With surprising speed, she whipped around and faced Buster.

The tiny dog suddenly found himself face to face with a head that was four times bigger than he was, attached to a huge body that loomed above him and which quivered with anger.

For once he had nowhere to hide. Guerrilla tactics were not going to work this time, and he began to frantically backpedal as the beast opened its mouth and roared at him. He was suddenly enveloped in a blast of stinking breath which made him fold his ears back and tuck his tail between his legs. The force of the smelly onslaught almost knocked him over, but his courage got the better of him and he let out a series of raspy barks, defiant to the last.

The big beast’s mouth chomped shut, and Buster saw her eyes narrow and the odiferous monster’s cheeks began to mysteriously pout.

Looking around frantically for somewhere to hide so that he could adjust his plan of attack, Buster spotted Eliot sitting on the old tree stump, now leaning on the walking stick and attempting to get to his feet so he could try and separate the two unlikely combatants.

Within seconds Buster had shot past Gertie and slid behind Eliot and the tree stump.

Gertie, in mid-pout, followed the scampering pup like a guided missile and came face-to-face with Eliot, whose eyes suddenly widened.

“Oh … _crap!_ ” he breathed.

It was too late. Gertie, already committed, vomited up a sickly, stinking spew of half-digested food. There were about a dozen or so well-chewed remnants of apples and carrots … some very tasty cattle feed which Gertie loved … bits of a few left-over hard-boiled eggs which Soapy had fed her when Effie wasn’t looking, and finally a milky, sour morass of bread and beet sops which she had stolen from Moke, whose worn old teeth didn’t deal too well with solids.

To Eliot, horrified and helpless, it was as though the whole process occurred in slow-motion. He was slathered in the stuff, and it didn’t let up for _hours_ , or so it seemed. Gertie could no more hold back the flow than Eliot could, and the Oklahoman did his best to shield himself from the onslaught by raising his good arm and the stick, which didn’t protect him one iota.

The stench of the vomit was bad enough, but it was compounded by Gertie’s stomach contents spattering his entire upper body. All he could do was be very glad he had had time to screw his eyes shut and close his mouth. The alternative would have been … well, he didn’t like to think about it. Enveloped in a blast of stinking breath and clingy, sodden bits of the food Gertie loved so dearly, Eliot just had to wait it out because he couldn’t move much without compromising his injuries.

Gertie, horrified at her error, did her best to turn away, but she was too late. Eliot was well and truly puked-upon, and she knew, he really, _really_ wasn’t going to like it.

Silence reigned. Even the magpies sat and watched from their tree, shocked into speechlessness. Eliot remained still for almost a minute, because he knew that when he finally moved, the filth covering his face and hair would begin to slide and drip and … and … he shuddered, unable to control the feeling of warm, stinking effluvia just _waiting_ to dribble into his mouth if he opened it to yell at Gertie.

Buster, taking advantage of the moment, made a break for it and ran helter-skelter back along the track towards the homestead, leaving Gertie and Eliot to their fate.

Gertie, mortified by the whole incident, took a step back and squeaked. Lowering her head she gazed into Eliot’s face and stuck out her tongue, attempting to lick off some of the mess, but Eliot peered back at her through slitted eyes, let out an irate growl and held up a finger, warning Gertie that if she even _tried_ to clean him up, she would be turned into camel rissoles. Gertie’s tongue was sucked back into her mouth with the sound of a suction pump, and she breathed on him apologetically if somewhat aromatically.

Eliot thought about wiping the filth off with his forearm, but the trickling feeling of partly-digested hard-boiled egg slithering down his biceps put paid to that idea, and he then attempted to pull the hem of his shirt around from his back so he could use it to wipe his face. When that didn’t work either, he knew he had to take the shirt off and hope he could find a clean bit so he could at least mop up the detritus on his face.

It took a lot of effort, with Gertie eager to help and Eliot pushing her head away, but the now-sodden flannel shirt was finally removed and Eliot draped it over his equally soaked denim-covered lap. Another minute or two passed as he did his best through half-open eyes to find a dry, clean patch on the ruined shirt.

He was very glad indeed when he discovered the unpuked-upon part of the shirt, because something unmentionable was sliding down his nose and dripping onto his lips, and the revulsion was beginning to get the better of him. Dealing with leeches in his underwear while up to his ass in a swamp was a _doddle_ compared to this, he thought.

He carefully wiped away the yellowish fluid and stomach contents from his eyes and mouth, and then did his best to clean up the rest, his own stomach roiling at the stink and mess. Gertie stood over him, trying hard to apologise in her own camelish way for her bad behaviour, although, Eliot was aware, it really wasn’t her fault. Gertie gave out such pathetic baby-squeaks that he didn’t have to heart to bawl her out – well, not right now – but the situation between Buster and Gertie would have to be resolved sooner rather than later.

Gertie tried to peer into his eyes and the tip of her pink tongue peeped out between her prehensile lips, the precursor for gentle camel-kisses and hair-whiffling, but Eliot wasn’t about to tolerate either. He didn’t even want to _think_ what was residing in his mane of hair. Something slimy dropped onto the bare skin of his upper back.

Doing his best to ignore the residual muck on his jeans and hair, he checked the swathe of bandages over his chest and shoulder, and was dismayed to see them soaked with yellowish bile. He had no doubt the vile, putrid stuff had soaked through to the skin, for the flannel shirt had not been much protection. The leg wound, he hoped, had been spared the bile due to the thickness of his worn jeans, but he knew Jo would have a blue fit when she saw the state of him.

He glared at Gertie.

“Moron!” he growled, and Gertie, now convinced he still adored her, honked gently and gave him a camel-kiss before he could fight her off.

Eliot sighed. So much for quiet solitude and having time to think. _Well_ , he thought. _S’pose I’d better go back_. He did _not_ relish Jo and Effie’s reaction.

He patted Gertie’s nose, and she hummed with pleasure. Her Eliot had forgiven her, and all was well - at least until she found the hairy little white demon which had caused all of this mayhem in the first place and she squashed him into oblivion.

Eliot wiped … _stuff_ … off the walking stick and then draped the sodden, foul-smelling shirt over the curve of Gertie’s neck. Tucking the walking stick under his arm and grasping Gertie’s _bosal_ , Eliot let her lift him, hurting and very smelly, to his feet. His bad leg protested at the effort of keeping him upright, but he could lean against Gertie’s reassuring bulk as he limped slowly along the track, knowing she would stay at his pace and make sure he didn’t fall.

“Alright, you big idiot,” he murmured softly. “Take me home.”

And off they went, with Eliot halting and sore and Gertie burbling and gentle, along the sunlit, dappled track where the magpies called and the bees hummed in the shadows of the old weeping paperbark that was their home.

* * *

“Good God!” Jo exclaimed as Eliot and Gertie slowly made their way across the yard towards the veranda steps. “ _Soapy!!_ ” she yelled into the house, “ _Eliot’s going to need help!!_ ”

She clattered down the veranda steps and ran to Eliot, but ground to a halt when she saw the mess he was in. Alice was seconds behind her as Soapy, busy writing feed lists in the home office, heard Jo’s yell and sensing the alarm in it got to his feet and hurried onto the veranda. What he wasn’t expecting when he ran down the steps onto the yard was Alice doubled over with laughter and Jo pressing her lips together in a vain attempt at controlling her giggles.

“I, um … I take it Gertie got upset at something,” Jo finally said, her voice wavering on the edge of hysterics.

Alice took another look at Eliot and broke out into fresh gales of laughter, and Eliot fuming, let out a growl of annoyance.

“ _It ain’t funny!!_ ” he rasped, his voice hitching up a couple of notes as it always did when he felt put-upon.

“Oh!!” Alice managed to say, holding her ribs, “Oh, yes it is, _papparti!!_ ” She sucked in a couple of steadying breaths before continuing. “You look like a half-eaten salad where the dressing’s gone off!”

“Hey! I’m hurtin’ here!” Eliot rasped indignantly, and Jo did her best to straighten her face even as Soapy eased forward to help him, Gertie nuzzling affectionately at Soapy’s ear. The smell was overpowering.

“Bloody hell!” Soapy wheezed, and gritting his teeth he slung Eliot’s good arm around his shoulders and took the American’s solid weight on his own wiry frame.

Alice eased the walking stick out from under Eliot’s arm, grimacing with distaste at the slimy feel of the thing, and Jo studied Eliot as he stood fuming in the bright sunlight.

His thick hair was sticking up in half-dried spikes of filth, and his shirtless torso was stained yellow and dotted here and there with bits of carrot and apple, as were his jeans from the knees upwards. Despite Jo’s amusement, she quickly became concerned at the state of the bandages around his chest and shoulder. She could see the sodden padding, and now there was a faint stain of red over the shoulder wound. She suspected the leg wound was in the same dirty state.

“Inside, Soapy. Take him into the bathroom, will you? He’ll need cleaning up and those wounds looked at,” she ordered briskly, and Soapy gently took Eliot’s weight and eased him forward, Alice close behind so that she could help their stricken friend up the steps and into the house.

Jo eyed Gertie, who licked her lips and harrumphed to herself. She petted the animal’s velvet nose, and cocked an eyebrow at the huge dromedary.

“You do realise you’re in trouble, don’t you?” she said, and gave Gertie a scratch under her chin. “This silliness has to stop, my girl, because you almost got Eliot into a real pickle. I know you didn’t mean to, but …”

Gertie swivelled her ears forward and listened to Jo’s voice, and then her tongue peeked out, her lips pursed and she gave Jo a camel-kiss on her cheek, which made the woman chuckle.

“Alright, alright! You go to your bed, you lunatic, and I’ll get Charlie to bring you your feed in a bit. No doubt there isn’t much left in your stomach, you vandal!”

Gertie, hearing the word ‘bed’, let her ears droop, but she did as she was told and wandered away to the humpy in her paddock, grumbling to herself.

Jo watched her go, the Buster-chewed tail flicking in the heat, and then she turned back to the house and let out a frustrated sigh. This business between the two animals, while funny, was becoming a little too much to deal with. But now … now she had Eliot to tackle, and that was a whole other problem.

She ran her fingers through her auburn-silver curls and headed up the veranda steps, prepared to do battle.

* * *

“ _Don’t you dare come in here, Alice!!_ ” Eliot bawled even as Alice knocked on the bathroom door and ignoring Eliot, opened the door and marched in carrying the first aid kit and fresh bandages.

Eliot, freshly showered and far less smelly, was sitting on the toilet lid and frantically trying to tuck a towel around his battered frame. Jo was already checking the wounds in his shoulder while Eliot did his best to escape her attention.

Alice dropped the kit beside Jo and frowned indulgently at Eliot.

“Don’t be so bloody daft, _papparti_. I’m a married woman and you got nothing I haven’t seen before, so stop whining!” she pronounced airily, and handed Jo some gauze dressings and antiseptic ointment.

“That’s not the friggin’ _point!_ ” Eliot growled, blushing, which charmed Jo to bits as she dressed the still-inflamed holes. “An’ I _don’t whine!!_ ”

“He thinks he doesn’t whine!” Alice grinned, and helped Jo lean a protesting Eliot forward so she could treat the hole in the back of the American’s shoulder.

Finishing with the bandaging, Jo taped the loose end and ruffled Eliot’s still-damp hair.

“You shouldn’t have headed off down the track, you nerk,” she scolded, and tugged the edge of the towel. “Leg! Let’s see what damage you’ve done!”

Eliot gathered the towel to his body like an outraged spinster and scowled. Alice snorted and decided to let Eliot off the hook.

“I’ll go get some tea, Jo. This idiot looks as though he needs a cuppa to soften his temper!”

Eliot continued muttering to himself as Alice slipped out of the bathroom, but Jo ignored the complaints and checked the still-swollen bullet hole. Satisfied Eliot had not done anything too drastic to it, she dressed the injury.

“What made you head off, Eliot? You knew you weren’t fit enough,” she asked as she placed gauze over the incision and began wrapping a bandage around Eliot’s thigh.

Eliot ran his good hand through his hair, now an unruly mass of soft curls.

“Needed to think is all,” he finally offered, hoping Jo would leave it at that.

“Hmmm … have you come to any decisions yet? About whatever’s bothering you?” Jo finished the bandaging and tried to check and to see if Eliot had any other injuries, but he wasn’t in the mood to let her.

“Nope – not yet, an’ I’m fine, Jo! Leave me alone, will ya?” Eliot groused unhappily, and pulled his towel tight to his chest.

“You _are_ going to talk about this at some point, aren’t you?”

Eliot glared back at Jo’s questioning look.

“Maybe. Don’t know yet,” he added warily.

But Jo took him at his word, and smiled kindly at the Oklahoman, sitting clutching his towel as though his life depended on it and obviously sore and discomfited.

“Righto then, boy. Let’s get you dressed and you can get a bite to eat. Then you rest, y’hear me?”

“I hear you,” came the grouchy answer.

Jo saw the stubborn set of Eliot’s jaw and sighed. She was sure that Eliot Spencer was going to be the death of her one day.

* * *

The Reckoning came the next morning.

Gertie was hauled complaining out of her humpy by Alice, and an unhappy Effie, knowing that Buster needed to understand what living at Wapanjara entailed, hunted him down in his hiding place beneath Jo and Soapy’s bed. He tried his best to gimp along on three legs, his bandaged limb held aloft and his ears drooping. Buster obviously thought he had being pathetic down to a fine art. It didn’t work. Effie called him a bludger and a fake, tucked him under one arm and stumped onto the veranda. He was handed to Charlie who carried him down the steps onto the yard and over to where Eliot stood leaning on the walking stick, patiently waiting beside the little orchard.

Gertie was _kooshed_ down by an amused Alice, and Buster was placed on the ground a couple of yards from the camel. Buster instantly broke into barking, furious outrage, but he was shushed by Charlie, and his ears drooped as he subsided into grumbles. Gertie tucked her tail tightly against her rump and honked her dismay, but Eliot stopped her with a sharp word and the pair settled into uneasy silence.

Buster sat down on his round rump, back legs stuck out and looking not unlike a sulking teenager, while Gertie just glared at the pup, her one good eye sending Death Glares at the unrepentant dog.

Eliot wasn’t in the mood to pander to their bad behaviour. He was sore, unsteady and still faintly smelling of camel puke, so whatever issues these two had, it was to stop.

“You’re a crazy little sonofabitch, you know that don’t you?” he said accusingly to Buster, who had the grace to look away in shame from the blue eyes of this human who had saved his life. Didn’t the man know he was just trying to protect him from that … that … _thing_ , that stinky beast –

“Hey!!! Look at me when I’m talkin’ to you, you little rat!” Eliot snapped.

Buster blinked and went back to listening to Eliot, who was leaning over him. He thought the human smelled funny.

“Listen … you have to behave yourself, you nut, ‘cause your life’s here now an’ Gertie’s part of this place, so deal with it, y’hear?” Eliot softened his voice a little, but the intent was clear. Buster had to pull his socks up, behave, and learn to live with Gertie in his life. “Understand??”

Buster hung his head, ears flat and eyes riven with guilt even though he didn’t understand the words.

Gertie gurgled to herself and stuck out her tongue, amused at Buster’s discomfort. Unfortunately, Eliot wasn’t about to ignore her, and while Buster digested the threat implied in the hitter’s words, he rounded on the big camel.

“And _you!!_ ” he growled, and Gertie shut her mouth with a _clop_. “He’s just a little guy!! Look at him!” Eliot gestured at a drooping Buster, “How in hell can somethin’ that size do you any harm, you big dumb-ass?? Huh?? Okay, he’s pulled out a few hairs here an’ there – well, maybe more than a few – but you can take it! He’ll learn, but not when you jump every time he rattles the bars!!”

Gertie shifted as she lay in front of her best friend and tried to hum, but Eliot waggled a finger at her.

“Nope! You ain’t gonna get around me that way, you idiot! No hummin’ … _stop it, Gertie!!_ ”

Gertie, shocked into silence, licked her lips and huffed to herself.

“Now,” Eliot continued, “you two fools are goin’ to stay out here an’ deal with being within six feet of one another, an’ you don’t move until you get used to it.”

And then he sat down on his recliner, brought down to the orchard by Soapy for the precise purpose of watching the two creatures deal with their situation. He lifted his stockman’s hat and placed it on his head, reclined the seat, and settled down to wait.

* * *

The day wore on, and Eliot dozed in the shade of the trees beside the orchard, Gertie and Buster beside him. They had rumbled and complained for a while, but finally they had lapsed into silence, barely tolerating each other’s presence, but beginning to realise that their lives from now on had each other in them.

Alice had brought Eliot something to eat, and Gertie had been given a couple of carrots as a treat for good behaviour. Buster had been allowed to eat his bit of pork crackling, and they had all drunk plenty of cool, fresh water.

After lunch Gertie had stretched her head out alongside the recliner and was napping with Eliot’s hand resting on her curly head. Buster, not to be outdone, had sneaked onto the recliner beside Eliot’s bad leg, keeping Eliot between him and the snoozing camel.

By mid-afternoon Buster needed a toilet break, so he yawned, stretched and turned around, feeling a little less disturbed by Gertie’s presence. The camel was still asleep, but Eliot was beginning to stir, the stiffness of his wounds rousing him from his dreamless slumber.

Buster was about to jump from the recliner when he suddenly froze. Eliot, still drowsy, felt more than heard the deep, threatening growl which suddenly began in Buster’s chest, and he sighed.

“ _Dammit_ , Buster!” he slurred, only half-awake, and he opened his eyes and raised his head, ready to deal with the stubborn pup, only to come face-to-face with the eight-foot-long highly venomous Mulga snake beginning to coil around his bare feet on the bottom of the recliner.

 

To be continued …


	7. Pain There Must Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiendish snakes (and I actually like snakes, but this one is fiendish for the purpose of the story), brave pups, fierce camels, threatened hitters and dire consequences.

* * *

Eliot had seen and dealt with many snakes over the years, including a huge reticulated python which had once sought refuge in his hammock when he was in Myanmar and sick with malaria. The combined weight of Eliot and the python coiled on his lower body had been too much and the hammock ropes had broken, the snake slithering away unharmed and a delirious Eliot Spencer not exactly sure what had happened. He hadn’t really been aware of the snake until he landed on the floor of the hut where he had holed up, deep in the forest and out of harm’s way – or so he had thought.

But right now, he had to admit as he stayed very, _very_ still in his recliner, he had never seen such a big Mulga snake. The broad head was beginning to thread its way up Eliot’s bad leg, tongue flicking, tasting the environment. Eliot knew that Mulgas hunted in the late afternoon, and he surmised the thing had sensed movement and body heat rather than relied on its eyesight, and Buster’s sudden movement and the vibration of his barks made the snake’s tongue flicker faster, trying to figure out the direction of possible prey.

He slowly lifted his left hand and placed it on Buster’s scruff, grasping the loose skin gently but firmly, and Buster glanced at him, the pup realising somehow that he had to be very quiet and not move. The big snake sensed the movement and eased a little over Eliot’s wounded thigh, the weight of it making Eliot gasp quietly with pain.

Gertie’s right ear flapped as a fly buzzed sleepily around her head, and Eliot’s jaw clenched. His right hand still rested on her brow, but moving it was problematic. The hole in his shoulder had left the muscles seriously weakened and he could only use his arm with difficulty. He couldn’t stop Gertie from moving, but right now she was asleep in the afternoon heat, her huge body languid and relaxed.

Eliot watched the snake intently and let his breathing even out and become shallow. The snake’s fuzzy eyesight was a boon, so at least Eliot could move incrementally and not alert the snake if he was careful.

The Mulga was now working its way carefully over his hip and groin to his bare stomach, and its solid bulk began to uncoil over his legs. Eliot wished he had decided to wear his heavy jeans rather than his old cut-offs, and he could feel the contractions of the snake’s powerfully muscled length, the sleek, dry, warm scales of its belly using his skin as an anchor to move.

Forcing his body to relax, Eliot watched the Mulga as it made its way along his body, knowing the sensory pit in its head could ‘taste’ his breath in the still air from the chemicals picked up by the flicking tongue, but there was nothing he could do about it as he had to quickly find a way to deal with the situation, which was fast becoming deadly.

Buster shifted slightly in his grip, the pup becoming un-nerved by the presence of the snake and the strength of Eliot’s fingers, but the hitter didn’t move as the reptile worked its way over the tensed muscles of his stomach and onto his chest. Eliot knew he was sweating. There was nothing he could do about it, and the snake would know by now that the thing it was crawling upon was mammalian, but Eliot’s lack of movement confused it, and the tongue worked faster, trying to make sense of the world around the creature.

The head suddenly turned towards Buster, and Eliot couldn’t prevent a sharp intake of breath. The weight of the snake was now almost entirely on his bare chest and stomach, and he felt the strong body begin to straighten out and the head lifted and stilled. Eliot could now easily see the massive bulge behind each eye where the reptile’s venom sacs lay.

Buster whimpered, and Eliot knew it had to be now or not at all.

Taking several, rapid, deep breaths he suddenly shoved Buster off the recliner and before the snake could even react to the sudden burst of movement, he caught the reptile behind the head in a vise-like grip.

Several things happened simultaneously.

Buster hit the ground with a yelp but he immediately righted himself and letting out a roar of indignation he whipped around, and was immediately presented with a dilemma. The big hairy beast, which had been lying asleep next to the wounded human, awoke with a start, grumbling in bewilderment. But something else was happening, which Buster didn’t quite understand.

The injured human had grasped the long, slithery thing behind the head, and the creature’s thick, solid body was uncoiling and writhing in fury. The human was struggling to hold onto the reptile, Buster could tell, and he heard the grunt of pain from the man as the animal’s heavy thrashing pounded Eliot’s wounded frame. But it was the head-end that fascinated the little dog. The snake’s jaws were wide open, and a pair of long, grooved fangs hovered only inches from Eliot’s face. The human bared his own teeth with the effort of trying to hang on to the powerful predator. At over twelve pounds in weight, the big male Mulga was desperately attempting to loosen Eliot’s grip on its head, and as it writhed and curled the pressure of Eliot’s fingers sent amber-coloured venom dripping from the fangs to run over the Oklahoman’s hand.

Gertie, alarmed, stood up and roared, jaws agape and teeth bared, spittle flying. She knew about snakes. She had stamped on a few in her time, but this one … it was sitting on Eliot’s chest and she knew he wasn’t strong enough to hold onto it for much longer because it was huge, and, she realised, she could do _nothing_ about it.

Eliot’s hand was tiring. Trying to hang onto the snake was agonising, weakening injured muscles and putting a terrible strain on the still-inflamed bullet holes, but he knew he had to find a way to get rid of it. The Mulga was warm with the afternoon sun, active and alert, and he saw the fangs flex slightly in the gaping mouth.

His right arm was almost useless. The wound in his shoulder sent tremors of pain through his entire chest, and he could only lift his hand slowly and with care. He could barely move the limb, let alone attempt to shift the snake off his chest so that he could use his strong left arm to fling the creature away from the recliner.

But even if he _could_ move the snake, Eliot knew he would be unable to avoid Gertie or Buster getting in the way. One or the other of them would be in terrible danger of getting bitten.

The snake was hissing angrily and the gaping mouth flexed again, the long fangs ready to plunge into flesh and hang on, chewing and pumping the toxic venom into its victim. Mulgas were not the most poisonous of Australia’s snakes, but they carried far more venom than any other, and the chewing action delivered the poison deep, deep within its target.

“Son … sonofa _bitch!_ ” Eliot ground out desperately, and the snake tried to coil its muscular length higher on Eliot’s chest so it could attempt to lever its broad, flat head free of the American’s flagging grasp.

Gertie’s great head was suddenly thrust forward and she bawled furiously but impotently at the coiling mass of muscled reptile on Eliot’s chest, every move making Eliot grit his teeth, trying to keep a keening groan of agony under control.

He really, _really_ needed to get rid of the _damn snake_ , but there was no-one to call to help him. Soapy and Jo were assisting Charlie, Alice and the crew in assessing the three-year-old geldings and worming them, while Effie was busy rattling around in her kitchen, preparing rack of lamb for the evening meal, and she would not be able to hear Eliot’s yell. He was on his own, and time was fast running out.

But then, to Eliot’s shocked surprise, the snake suddenly clenched its entire body and the jaws snapped shut for a moment. Then its sinuous length slid sideways off Eliot’s chest, the coiled body unravelling as it hooked for a moment on the low armrest, and then the snake’s lower half was writhing on the dusty ground while its front half was suspended in mid-air, the head still immobilised by Eliot’s grip.

A rich, heady series of growls suddenly erupted from ground level, and as Eliot painfully righted himself, now blessedly free of the weight on his chest and able to use his good leg to push down the leg-support on the recliner, the Oklahoman felt his blood run cold as he saw Buster out of the corner of his eye.

The pup had the snake by the tail.

Buster had sunk needle-sharp teeth into the snake’s meaty flesh and he was hanging on, even as the Mulga let out a series of strangled hisses as Eliot’s fingers tightened, the hitter doing his best to frantically come up with a solution which meant all of them came out of the situation alive and unbitten.

Buster began tugging at the tail, blood starting to well around his lips, and Gertie let out a roar of indignation as she saw the pup fearlessly taking on a snake over three times his own body weight.

Eliot hurriedly managed to hold the head of the snake away from his body but Buster’s attack had enraged the reptile even further and the creature managed to curl into tight, roiling knots, hauling Buster off his feet and adding more weight to drag on Eliot’s fast-fading grip.

“ _Dammit_ , Buster!” Eliot ground out, knowing yelling at the terrier would be a useless exercise, but also desperately aware that if he let go of the snake’s head Buster would be its first target.

He tried to stand by using the elbow of his snake-holding arm to lean on the recliner and pry his protesting body to its feet, and for a moment he thought he had succeeded, but even as he swayed onto unsteady legs, a huge brown blur was suddenly in front of him and slammed him off his feet.

Gertie, finally seeing an opportunity, lunged forward as the snake began to uncoil with the weight of Buster on its tail, and she chomped her powerful jaws around the creature’s muscled length just inches from Eliot’s hand.

Eliot hit the ground hard, letting go of the snake, and he let out a bawl of agony as he felt something warm and fluid soak the bandages around his shoulder. Even as unconsciousness encroached, Eliot frantically tried to turn so that he could shout at Gertie to _leave the friggin’ snake alone_ , but all he could see was swirling dust and glimpses of an annoyed white pup, and the huge brown bulk of Gertie as she tackled eight feet of furious Mulga snake.

“ _Ger … Gertie!! NO!!_ ” he yelled, but his voice was distant and the pain was terrible, and the sounds of angry camel and tenacious terrier faded, and he passed out.

* * *

“ _ELIOT!! ELIOT!! SON!!”_

The voice was faint and held a tinge of fear, but Eliot hauled himself out of the limbo of unconsciousness and became aware of cool hands cupping his face while others were on his chest, checking the soaked bandages around his shoulder. He really didn’t want to surface from the nice, quiet place where nothing hurt and he wasn’t bleeding to death, but he knew he had to. There was something he had to do … now, _what was it_ …

 _OH_.

“Jo …” he rasped, and began to struggle against her hands on his chest, “Jo … Gertie … she … she … _snake_ …” he rambled, voice hoarse with fear and pain, “Buster …”

“Easy, boy,” Jo said, relieved, as she checked the bleeding wound in his shoulder, “be still for a moment, will you?”

“The snake’s dead,” Alice said, trying to soothe Eliot as he surfaced from oblivion, “so just wait a moment … give yourself a breather, _papparti_ , while Jo checks you out.” She lifted her hands from his face and placed Eliot’s head on her lap as she sat beside him. “You’re bleeding again, you twerp,” she added affectionately, but Eliot could hear the worry in her voice.

He managed to open his eyes, the world still a bit hazy, and gazed up into Alice’s face. He could see the fear in her huge brown eyes, and he watched as she glanced sideways before turning back to him.

He swallowed drily. How long had he been unconscious? Licking his lips to moisten them, he tried again.

“Gertie? She okay? Buster … he bit the bastard on the tail –“

“Buster’s fine,” Alice smiled, although Eliot could hear something in her voice that worried the hell out of him, “he’s fit as a flea and as proud as punch with himself,” and Eliot felt a tiny tongue lick his good hand as it lay in the dust, and a warm, fuzzy body worked its way under his fingers, looking for scratches.

“Good … good dog,” Eliot murmured, “even though you’re a dumbass,” he added. “Coulda got bit!” he scolded, and Buster nuzzled Eliot’s arm, letting out a rumble of pleasure. “Gertie … she’s okay, right?” he asked again, and this time Alice frowned and looked at Jo, who nodded.

“Um …” Alice said quietly, and she carded fingers through Eliot’s hair, hoping to keep him still and quiet.

It was then Eliot knew something was terribly, terribly wrong. He suddenly tried to get up, good arm flailing, and even hurt as he was it took both Jo and Alice to hold him, desperately trying to stop him from aggravating his injuries.

“Lie still, dammit!!” Jo hissed, and Alice pressed her hands on Eliot’s good shoulder, effectively stopping him from going anywhere even as he did his best to sit up to see what was happening. “I have to stop the bleeding!!” Jo continued, and Eliot let out a keening groan as he fought to free himself from their gentle hands.

“She’s bit! Gertie’s bit!!” he gasped, and his blue eyes were wide with panic, something Jo had never thought she would see in Eliot Spencer.

“Charlie’s with her,” Alice added, “and Soapy’s gone for anti-venom and the snake-bite kit, so she’s in good hands, I promise!”

“ _Shit!_ ” Eliot hissed and tried to turn his head, frantically searching for Gertie and to see what was going on, but his battered body simply wouldn’t do as it was told and he slumped back onto the red earth even as Jo pressed down on the bullet wound to slow the bleeding.

“We have to get him inside, Alice,” Jo said urgently, “can you go get a couple of the lads and then tell Effie what’s happening, and get the medikit out so I can get this fool sorted.”

But even as Alice carefully slid the cushion from the recliner under Eliot’s head, ready to find someone to help carry Eliot back to the house, the Oklahoman grasped her hand.

“No!” he rasped, “I gotta stay with Gertie … gotta make sure she’s -“

But Alice patted Eliot’s hand and eased her own free of his rapidly-weakening fingers.

“Charlie’s looking after her, brother, I promise. You need to be sorted out, Eliot. You can’t stay here. You’re bleeding, and you’re no use to Gertie like this, now are you?”

And before Eliot could answer, Alice kissed him on the forehead and was gone.

“Jo … Jo, I have to –“ he scrabbled at her hands as she leaned carefully on his chest, but Jo batted at his fingers, irritated.

“ _Stop_ , Eliot!” she scolded, but even as she spoke there came a soft, pained gurgle, and Eliot renewed his efforts, struggling to move as a series of pitiful squeaks came from his left. He could hear Charlie speaking softly to Gertie, telling her to _koosh_ and be quiet, and Eliot finally felt the ground vibrate slightly as Gertie fell rather than sat down, her grunt of pain sending an arrow of pure fear straight through Eliot’s heart.

He felt Buster snuggle into his side and he reached out blindly for Gertie with his good hand, unable to see what was going on. To his immense relief, he felt a soft, velvet muzzle nuzzle his fingers. Gertie was there, her huge head resting on the ground, eager for his touch. Lips mumbled at his fingers, and Eliot stroked Gertie’s nose, reassuring her, and her squeaks turned into a soft, breathy hum.

Eliot let loose a soft curse, and Jo shifted a little so that he could turn his head to seek out the camel.

There she was, Charlie crouched beside her feeling along her left foreleg, which she didn’t seem to be able to tuck under her, and the young aborigine was murmuring quietly to Gertie, attempting to keep her still.

Eliot shifted further, which made Jo swear even more and Buster whined as he sat tight against Eliot’s side.

“Where … where’s she bitten?” Eliot asked, and Charlie looked up from his inspection of the camel’s foreleg. His face was grim.

“Just above the fetlock. The silly bugger must’ve dropped the snake thinking it was dead and the bloody thing bit her.” His dark eyes were full of worry. “It hung on, Eliot. She must’ve got a fair whack of venom, poor girl.”

Eliot closed his eyes for a moment and the shock made his heart skip a beat or two.

“Easy, boy …” Jo whispered, and he felt her hands slacken a little on his wound. “The bleeding’s easing up. Let’s get you inside and tidied up, and then you’ll go to your bed –“

“Nope. No bed,” Eliot rasped. “Patch me up, but I ain’t gonna go anyplace other than back here.” He scratched Gertie’s nose and she gurgled, pleased at the attention despite the terrible pain in her leg.

Jo sighed but wisely stayed silent. Eliot, when he was in this kind of mood, was best ignored, so she sat beside the wounded man and kept him still, and in turn Gertie lay quietly and meekly near her best friend. Charlie continued his inspection of her leg, and Buster snuggled into Eliot, the little dog not too sure what was going on but content to keep the hurt human company.

Within minutes half-a-dozen stockmen came running, accompanied by Alice and Soapy, the latter carrying a boxed snakebite kit, a wealth of rubber tubing and valves, two packs of saline and packs of anti-venom ampoules, something every cattle station stocked.

“ _What kind of snake??_ ” he yelled as he ran.

“ _Mulga!_ ” Charlie bawled back, and Soapy was already passing the saline packs to Alice as they came to a halt beside Gertie.

Eliot watched as Soapy quickly laid everything out beside the fallen dromedary as he gave the big camel a scratch. Gertie squeaked mournfully as Soapy felt for a pulse along her neck, dug out a pair of scissors and cut away hair, leaving a bare patch. Within seconds he had found the vein, inserted a cannula and tubing and was feeding the contents of a saline pack dosed with several ampoules of anti-venom directly into Gertie’s bloodstream, Alice standing beside him and holding the saline drip so that he could monitor the flow. He tied a slender bandage around Gertie’s neck to hold the cannula in place, and then sat back on his heels, brow furrowed with concentration.

Gertie didn’t even twitch. She was feeling woozy and unwell, and the pain in her leg where the snake had bitten so deeply was becoming even worse. But Eliot was near her, and feeling his fingers stroke her muzzle she pursed her lips and let her tongue creep out, doing her best to give him a camel-kiss.

“Hey now, darlin’,” Eliot crooned as best as he could, “stay still, y’hear? You’re gonna be fine … just fine …” But even as he said it the fear of losing her clenched his heart.

He was aware of other bodies around him, and several pairs of hands gently tried to lift him from the ground, but he struggled fitfully, and Gertie let out a soft honk of loss as Eliot’s touch was taken from her.

“ _No!! Leave me the hell alone!_ ” Eliot cursed weakly, and did his best to free himself from the stockmen’s grasp, but he simply wasn’t strong enough. “ _NO!!_ I gotta stay, Jo!! She won’t settle without me an’ –“

Gertie let out a series of shaky squeaks and she raised her head, reaching out for Eliot, but she discovered she didn’t seem to have any control over her neck and she wobbled, Soapy quietly speaking to her as Charlie opened the snake-bite kit and hauled out a large compression bandage.

Gertie lay half on her side, unable to bend her injured leg properly, and Charlie could feel the heat and swelling around the bite. She flinched at his touch. The Mulga had injected massive amounts of venom into the muscle, and Gertie was in serious danger of the flesh necrotising, as well as her blood failing to coagulate.

Charlie quickly and skilfully dressed the injury and then began to wrap the whole of her lower limb, foot and all, in the compression bandage, hoping the even pressure would help stop the venom from progressing through her system. Gertie tried to turn her head to see what he was doing, but she didn’t make it and her head flailed, unbalanced, nearly stunning Soapy as he tried to get out of her way.

“Stop it, Gertie!” he said sharply, and he caught her _bosal_ and steadied her great head, knowing the animal would attempt to stand and ruin all of their work. Gertie’s ears flicked and she gurgled, settling at Soapy’s touch, and the old pastoralist gave her a scratch which made Gertie squeak, comforted by his attention. “I know, sweetheart,” he whispered, “I know … you just be quiet and still, and let Charlie work, hey?”

Eliot’s hand still reached out for Gertie, but she wasn’t now aware of it, and Eliot began to struggle to get to her. But Jo caught his hand and squeezed it tightly.

“C’mon now … let’s get you cleaned up, laddie, and we’ll let Soapy and Charlie look after Gertie. They’ve done this before, so let ‘em work. You know she’s in good hands,” she continued, and she nodded to the three stockmen holding Eliot down. “It’s alright now,” she said, “you can take him inside. Just make sure you don’t jar his shoulder, lads. I’ve only just got the bleeding stopped.”

“Jo …” Eliot gasped, the futility of struggling not yet acknowledged, “I … I gotta stay with her, Jo … I can keep her still … make sure she ain’t upset an’ tryin’ to move …”

Jo heard the Oklahoma accent getting stronger with every word, signifying how stressed and upset the man was, but she knew he would just have to deal with being away from Gertie while she treated his injuries.

“Eliot … son … shut up and let us take care of you.” She gestured at the stockmen, and they lifted Eliot as carefully and tenderly as they could and carried him, protesting every inch of the way, into the cool shadows of the home he loved.

Jo wiped blood from her hands and watched Soapy for a moment.

“Do your best, love. You and Charlie. If Gertie dies …”

Soapy glanced up at his wife and nodded.

“I know, old girl … I know.” He checked the flow of saline, and nodded. “Gertie’s a big lump of a thing. That’s her saving grace. There’s a lot of body for the venom to deal with, and hopefully the anti-venom will kick in. But she’s not going to have an easy time of it, that’s for sure.”

Jo leaned over and kissed her husband.

“Just do your best. That’s all we can hope for,” she sighed. “Righto. I’d better go and put Eliot back together again. I tell you Soapy, patching that boofhead up … it’s getting pretty old. I’ve seen more of Eliot’s blood than anyone else I know, and …” she gave another heaving sigh. “Oh, what’s the use? He’s our boy, and he came home because he needed us, and that’s what family’s for. Effie’s going to make his life _hell_!”

Without saying another word, Jo made her way back to the house and left Soapy, Charlie and Alice to try and save Gertie’s life.

* * *

Buster sat on his own in Wapanjara’s dusty yard, watching as the hurt human whose life he had done his best to save was carried back to the house, only semi-conscious and with the fresh, coppery scent of blood all over him.

After a moment or two Buster stood up and limped over to the long, sinuous body of the slithery thing which had attacked the human, and he nosed at it. It lay silent and still, head crushed by one of Gertie’s huge feet. Buster had finally been forced to let go of his mortal enemy’s tail as it coiled and writhed furiously, but the big hairy thing had grabbed it and shaken it and roared at it, and even as the strange, hissy beast had bitten the big hairy thing, the huge animal had finally shaken it free and stamped on it until it was dead … something of which Buster heartily approved.

He sat down next to the snake’s carcass and studied the other humans fussing over the big hairy thing, and he realised that the animal actually wasn’t trying to kill _anyone_. It was just like him – a protector of its tribe, and worthy of a terrier’s heart.

So the little pup lay down next to the snake’s lifeless body and waited patiently, just in case it miraculously came back to life and attacked his tribe, and _this_ time his tribe included a great big hairy thing that smelled bad.

* * *

Instead of heading for the old kitchen table, Eliot was gently deposited on his bed by the stockmen, a furious and deeply worried Effie McPhee in tow as she cursed both Eliot and the stockmen in equal measure.

The men were instantly shooed out and told there was tea and walnut cake for them in the kitchen, although she knew they were really too worried to eat much. _Bless ‘em_ , she thought, _they’re a bloody good bunch_.

She unloaded her armful of clean towels onto the bed beside Eliot, and as Jo began to cut away the bloody bandages on Eliot’s shoulder she packed a couple of them under the exit hole to catch any seepage and to help support the American’s injured body.

“Boofhead!” she growled, still shaky from Alice’s breathless message that the Yank was bleeding and that mangy camel of his was snake-bitten. “How’s he doing, Missus?”

Jo’s brow wrinkled in concentration, but she allowed herself a tiny nod.

“He’ll do, Effie. I think Gertie knocked him flying to get him out of the way of a bite. The bleeding’s just about stopped, so I think with a few days of complete rest he’ll come right.”

Effie chewed her lip before continuing.

“.. and that bleedin’ camel … Girlie said she’s bitten … how …??”

“Gotta … gotta get back to her, Eff …” Eliot muttered and did his best to escape Jo’s gentle hands, but to no avail.

“Not right now, you daftie!” Effie grumbled, but her own teary gaze settled on Jo, who gave the little cook a guarded look.

“Gertie’s in good hands, Effie. Soapy and Charlie already have her on the anti-venom and her leg’s bandaged, so now we wait and see.” Jo kept her tone neutral, despite being worried about both Gertie and Eliot.

Effie took a deep breath and nodded. Despite her claim that Gertie was a flea-ridden, mangy, walking carcass that did nothing but eat and fart, Effie was quite fond of the beast, and if Gertie was wandering the yard Effie was known to slip her an apple or two when no-one was looking.

“Well now … that’s good …” she sighed, “ … Mister M’ll keep her right. Him and Charlie. Girlie said the snake’s dead. That right?”

“Gertie stamped on it,” Eliot huffed, realising he had no chance of getting out of bed until Jo had checked his injuries and changed the bandages. “Buster … he, uh … he bit it in the ass. Dumb critter … coulda got himself hurt …”

“What??” Effie’s face was a picture of horror. “He did _what??_ ” she blurted, her voice a half-octave higher than usual, “where –“

Jo raised a hand, halting Effie’s impending panic. Eliot was hurt again, Gertie had been bitten by a bloody snake and now Buster putting himself in mortal danger was too much for Effie. She stuck out a trembling hand and collapsed onto her rocking chair, looking a little pale.

“Now don’t fret Effie, he’s just fine,” Jo soothed as she checked the bullet hole in Eliot’s shoulder, slathering it with antibiotic ointment before covering it lightly with gauze and re-bandaging it. “Last time I looked he was guarding his ‘kill’, the cheeky little blighter. Soapy’ll keep an eye on him.”

“The little bugger!” Effie exclaimed, both relieved and proud of her new charge. She took a deep, deep breath and steadied her nerves. Effie McPhee very rarely panicked, but this time she had come very close to doing so. “Snakes!” she snarled. “Nasty, shonky bastards!!”

“This one wasn’t so small,” Jo muttered as she shifted further down Eliot’s battered frame and began to remove the soiled bandage around his thigh. “A Mulga. The thing must’ve been over six feet long,” she added with a small shudder. Jo wasn’t too fond of snakes.

“More like eight feet,” Eliot grunted as Jo began to clean the stitched wound in his thigh. “Big sonofabitch, and as strong as hell.” He paused for a moment as the pressure on the swollen wound made him wince. “Jo … I gotta get back to my girl. Soon as you’ve finished I need –“

Jo’s frown was formidable as she bandaged the wound.

“You need to be _still_ , Eliot! Let Soapy and the others look after her – you’d just be in the way anyway, you idiot, and there’s nothing you can do –“ she scolded gently.

“I can keep her settled so she don’t move, an’ she _needs me, dammit_ –“ Eliot wasn’t about to rest while Gertie was so sick, but before he could let loose with a rant Alice appeared at the door.

“Eff … do you have any old blankets? Soapy and Charlie are propping Gertie up with some straw bales so she doesn’t collapse, but a blanket or two should help during the night,” she asked briskly, eyeing the damaged man on the bed.

Eliot had had enough. Jo taped the bandage and was about to pack away the medikit when Eliot levered himself up and made a valiant attempt to get off the bed.

Instead all he got was a barrage of cursing and three sets of hands holding him down, and he just didn’t have the strength to fight them. He slumped back with a groan, swearing succinctly but unable to battle the inevitable.

“Don’t be a drongo, _papparti_ ,” Alice whispered kindly. She could see the fear in Eliot’s eyes … something she had never seen before, and hoped never to see again. “She’s holding her own, brother. It’s early days yet, but … she’s sitting squeaking at Soapy, so she’s still and relaxed.” She smiled at the man she treasured as family. “Try not to worry, okay?”

Eliot knew when he was beaten. His reluctant nod made all three women relax a little, and Effie stood up, less stressed now that Eliot wasn’t fighting them.

“C’mon, girlie. I’ll go dig out some blankets for that stinky buggering camel – let’s keep her warm, hey?”

So Eliot lay back on his pillows, his wounds stinging and sending rills of pain through his body, and fumed quietly. They were right, dammit. There was nothing he could do for the moment. He needed to rest for a short while, regain some strength and get some food in him. After that … well, he would see.

He closed his eyes, rested his good arm over his stomach, and while worry for Gertie made his stomach churn, he did his best to drift off to sleep.

* * *

It was dark when Soapy finally appeared in the cavernous Wapanjara kitchen, rubbing tired eyes and stretching to ease the kinks out of his muscles.

Effie, busy making a rich dark chocolate cake and trying not to worry about a damaged American, a snake-bitten camel and a little terrier which refused to leave his kill, eyed the pastoralist.

Silently putting aside her half-sifted flour, she dug out a mug, poured him tea from her huge old teapot and gestured at a chair.

“Sit,” she ordered and Soapy did as he was told. Effie added milk to his tea and then put a slice of upside-down cake on a plate and dumped it in front of him, a fork appearing as though from nowhere. “Eat!” she said.

Soapy yawned again and took a long drink of tea before attacking the cake. He loved pineapple upside-down cake, and Effie knew it.

Effie returned to her flour.

“How’s the big bugger doing?” she asked. “She alright?”

Soapy swallowed the mouthful of sweetness and savoured it for a moment before answering.

“Poorly. She got a hell of a dose of poison, Eff. She must be in a lot of pain, but she’s dealing with it, the daft big sod.” He sighed. “She’s missing Eliot, though. Charlie’s gone home for an hour, but Gertie’s dozing so I thought I’d grab a cuppa.” Soapy shook his head. “I don’t know … she’s wobbly … uncoordinated … Charlie managed to stop the bleeding in the wound, but it was touch and go. Maybe –“

He was stopped in mid-sentence by the soft click of nails on the Minton tiles in the hall, and a tired Buster puttered into the kitchen, having given up his task of guarding the dead snake. It obviously wasn’t going to hurt anyone, and his stomach was empty, so he had followed Soapy back to the house, hoping for a bite to eat. He ambled over to Effie, sat down and patted at her lumpy foot.

Effie, pleased, once more put aside her baking and wiped her hands on her apron. Bending over, she lifted Buster and gave him a hug, and the terrier returned the affection willingly with half-a-dozen sloppy licks. Effie scowled at him.

“Listen to me, you bludger!” she rasped.

Buster cocked his ears and watched Effie’s pudgy face.

Effie tapped his black nose and continued.

“Don’t you ever, _ever_ take on a bleedin’ snake again, you hear me, you little chancer? You could’ve got bit, and you’d be dead quicker’n roadkill! You frightened the wits out of me, you arse!”

Buster was delighted. His human loved him, was telling him he was adored, and all he needed now was something in his stomach. Effie duly obliged. She put him back on the floor and got out his new bowl. Filling it with meat scraps and a small handful of chopped cooked vegetables from the refrigerator, she placed it in front of him and Buster tucked in. Fighting eight-foot-long Mulga snakes was _very_ hard work.

Washing her hands, Effie watched as Soapy finished his cake and poured himself another mugful of tea.

“The Missus is in the living room,” she said softly. “I made her go and sit down for a bit. She’s knackered … a bit like you. Go and keep her company for a little while until we check the Yank.”

“How’s he doing?” Soapy asked as he stood up, clasping his mug to his chest to prevent spillage.

“Sulking, but what’s new? We got some tucker in him a while ago, and he’s sleeping. But he wants back to his camel, so he does.” She shook her head, frustrated. “The mongrel scared the livin’ Rickys out of me, Mister M!”

Soapy rolled a shoulder to ease the ache in it.

“Yes, well … you know he’s a bit prone to being a stubbie short of a six-pack,” he said with a weary smile. “Righto – I’ll go sit with jo and finish my tea, and then I’ll head back out to Gertie.”

Watching Soapy wander through to the living room to see his wife, Effie pondered the entire situation. It was a bleedin’ _mess_ , and no mistake. Sighing, she wiped her hands on her flowery apron and returned to her chocolate cake.

* * *

Eliot listened to the voices in the kitchen as he very quietly struggled into a warm pair of jeans, managing to pull the heavy material over the thick bandage on his leg with his good hand. Buttoning up the fly and fastening the belt was a little more problematic, but he stuck at it, and once that was done he stood up, unsteady, hurting but determined. His next task was slipping on his old jacket, the one he used around the homestead for the tougher jobs. It was worn but roomy, and after finagling his left arm into its sleeve he draped the right side over his wounded shoulder, his bare torso now feeling a little warmer. His last task was to silently slip his bare feet into his work boots. Reaching out for the walking stick beside the door, he was ready.

Jo would later wonder just how on earth he had made his way through the house and down the veranda steps without making a sound, and it hurt him to do so, but he managed it, and emerged from the warmth of the household into a cool, breezy night. The sky was starless, clouds blanketing the world and even blanking out the sliver of moon hanging in the heavens. There was the scent of rain in the air, and even the fireflies stayed away, sensing the oncoming wet weather. The little mopoke muttered to himself in the undergrowth as Eliot limped painfully over the yard to where Gertie lay, a storm lamp beside her so Soapy could keep an eye on her.

Normally Eliot would have heard Gertie’s steady chewing, the camel content to masticate her cud and snoozing in the night, but to his dismay he heard something disturbingly different … a soft, rhythmic groan, every breath telling him Gertie was in terrible pain.

“Hey girl …” he whispered, and he could see Gertie now, supported by heavy straw bales to prevent her lying on her side. He knew if that happened, she would probably never get up again. She had laid her head on one of the bales and he could also see her outstretched leg, strapped with a compression bandage, and the swelling around her fetlock was alarming. Mulga bites were often badly swollen, and it was here that the flesh could begin to necrotise if infection took a hold.

He gimped over to her bulk and suddenly Gertie realised he was there, rousing from her uncomfortable doze. To Eliot’s relief, she let out a chomp and squeaked, happy to see him despite her pain and discomfort. Her head lifted but she wobbled alarmingly, and Eliot murmured a wordless sound of anguish as he realised she had very little control over her body.

Before he knew it, he was ignoring the straw bales and dropping the walking stick, and he leaned on Gertie’s hump so that he could gingerly slide down to sit beside her, resting against her comforting warmth. It hurt him, but it was worth it as Gertie settled her head on the bale nearest to him and he reached out to place a hand on her curly brow.

“Dumbass,” he said tenderly as he scratched her. “Got yourself _snake-bit_ , you moron!”

Gertie hummed, her breathing shallow and pained, but she had to let Eliot know she loved him and she felt better now he was here beside her. She shifted her head a little closer, and her lips pursed, her tongue peeking out in a dribbly camel-kiss.

Eliot smiled and moved his hand so she could give it a lick, knowing it would help keep her still.

Gertie, with her best friend beside her, sighed and closed her eyes. She was very sick and she hurt, and her body wouldn’t work properly, but now Eliot was there she could try to relax. The blankets kept her warm and a hand gently rubbed her nose, and her hum deepened. She was asleep.

So Eliot tucked his damaged body into her side, stretched out his bad leg and felt Gertie’s breathing change as she slept. He quirked a weary grin. _Both of us, not worth a friggin’ damn_ , he thought.

And as he allowed himself to slip into an uneasy doze, lightning flickered over the distant hills and the vast, empty reaches of the Tanami Desert, and the soft rumble of thunder heralded the oncoming storm.

 

To be continued …


	8. Rain Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing but fluff, talking, a bad-tempered hitter and a very sick camel. 
> 
> As always, any Warumungu and Warlpiri translations will be at the end of the chapter.

* * *

Eliot woke up fighting.

There were hands on him, holding him, touching his brow and pulling gently at his jacket. But he fought back feebly, his left hand the only one which appeared to be working as it bunched into a fist and flailed wildly. It connected with something.

“OW!!” yelped a familiar voice, “bloody hell, Eliot!!”

Eliot stopped struggling although the hands still held him, their grip firm but kindly, and he pried open his eyes.

Charlie stared back at him, his own dark eyes watering. The young aborigine was cursing under his breath, but he still hung on to Eliot.

Jo was on his other side, one hand cupping his cheek and the other resting against his brow, feeling the heat there. Gertie’s huge head nudged against her, trying to check what Jo was doing to Eliot, and he heard her ragged breathing as she lipped at Jo’s arm.

“You really must stop hitting people who’re trying to help you, you twit!” Jo scolded. She cocked an eyebrow at Eliot, and he realised it was the middle of the night and it was raining. “C’mon boy. Up you get. You can’t stay out here,” she added with brisk efficiency.

Eliot did his best to wrench his arm out of Charlie’s grasp but failed, the man hanging on despite the smarting ache in his jaw.

“Stop being a bloody pain in the bum, Eliot!” he grumbled, tightening his hold. “You’re already halfway to looking like a drowned koala, so –“

“Let go of me, Charlie!” Eliot growled weakly even as he realised his hair was plastered to his skull. “Ain’t goin’ anywhere –“

“You can’t stay out in the rain, boy!” Jo complained, “there’s a thunderstorm coming and you’re only just getting over a fever, so you’re going inside, you’re going to change and then you’re getting back into your bed, you sneaky young bugger!”

Eliot squinted in the sudden glare of a flashlight as Soapy arrived.

“ _Dammit_ , Soapy!” he growled, and winced as he shifted, his shoulder and leg burning as his body objected to the stiffness from sitting for too long in the same position. “M’gonna stay put! Not movin’! You can get a tarp … Gertie ‘n’ me’ll be fine … jus’ cover us with somethin’ waterproof, we’ll be okay …”

“Eliot … son …” Soapy crouched down beside Charlie, “ … I’ll sit with Gertie. We’ll cover her with a tarp, I promise, and she’ll be fine with me. I’ll look out for her –“

Eliot began his struggle anew.

“I’m stayin’ put!” His voice was taking on a desperate tone, “she needs me! She got bit lookin’ out for me, an’ now it’s my turn to look out for _her_ … _I owe her!_ ”

There came sounds of more people arriving, and Effie emerged from the darkness, swearing softly and holding her old cane-handled brolly. Her muddy eyes reflected anger, glinting hotly at the edge of the light.

“You young idiot!” she growled, and tried to hold the brolly over Eliot and Jo. “What the bleedin’ hell d’you think you’re up to, you bodgie!! You’ll catch your death hanging about here in the middle of a thunderstorm!!”

“ _Leave me be!!_ ” Eliot answered, still trying to pry himself out of Jo and Charlie’s grasp, “Gertie’s hurtin’, an’ she needs me, so –“ his voice had a desperate tone in it now.

“Boss,” Jacko interrupted as he hunkered down beside Charlie and Soapy, “I got an idea. What about the muster tent?”

Soapy flicked the flashlight at Jacko, the rain dripping off their hats and the rumble and crack of lightning getting ever closer.

The muster tent was an old, ex-Australian Army tent bought at an army surplus store in Darwin. Big, heavy and cumbersome, it was nevertheless sound and still waterproof, thanks to careful maintenance, and the crew used it during distant musters in the huge paddocks. They cooked in it, slept in it and used it for storage, and it even withstood willy-willies in the dry season as they swept the arid landscape of the far western horizons.

Soapy’s eyebrows drew down as he thought about it, even as Jo’s lips pursed with annoyance.

“Eliot can’t stay out here, Soapy, you know that!” she retorted, and Effie nodded in agreement.

“The silly bastard’s still sick, Mister M! We can’t let him –“ she railed, ignoring the rain soaking through her old dress and apron as she tried to keep Eliot dry.

“Jo … Eff …” Soapy said, his voice low with worry but trying to stay calm, “listen … you know he won’t settle in his bed. You know he’ll sneak out as soon as he can –“

“No he bleedin’ won’t!!” Effie snarled, “he’ll stay in his blasted bed if I have to tie him in it –“

“Won’t work,” Eliot said softly, somehow sensing he was about to get his way. Gertie hummed as Eliot continued, “You know I’ll get out of there, Eff.”

Effie’s face screwed up in fury.

“ _Want a bet_ , you silly bastard??” she ranted, worry in every syllable, but she took a deep breath and did her best to sound reasonable. “Look, you boofhead … Mister M and Charlie’ll look after that stinky great bugger no matter what, and they know what they’re doing, so why not go back to your bed and try and get some sleep? You can go see her in the morning –“

Eliot laid his head against Gertie’s side and closed his eyes.

“Nope … m’stayin’ …” he murmured, and he heard the collective sigh of annoyance from these people he loved. “You _know_ Gertie hates rain an’ she’s real scared of thunderstorms. I can keep her restin’ easy … make sure she don’t try to stand up.” His Oklahoma accent was back in full force, and Jo could hear the stress in every word.

Soapy came to a decision. He turned to Jacko and Chalky, who had crouched down beside them, eager to help.

“Jacko, go fetch the tent. Roust out the lads and we’ll get these two fools covered over. We can’t use the ground sheet, but we’ll find a way to try and keep the ground as dry as we can.”

Jacko’s face crinkled with relief, and he grinned.

“Righto, Boss.” He turned to Chalky. “C’mon, mate – let’s go wake up the rest of the crew and get the tent. If the silly bastard wants to stay with the bloody camel, then stay with the bloody camel he will!”

Jo shook her head in exasperation, rain droplets spraying from her hat.

“Eliot Spencer – “ she began, and she carded back wet hair from his face, “- you’re a damned nuisance, that’s what you are! When are you going to do what’s best for you, hey? _Why_ , for once in your life, can’t you just _do as you’re told??_ ” and as she said it, Jo’s green eyes crinkled with affection.

Eliot took as deep a breath as he could and carefully relaxed, Gertie’s huge head still beneath his hand. He snorted painfully and his face slid into a cocky grin. “Yeah, right … that’ll be the day,” he quipped, face wet with rain, and then flinched as Jo gave him the gentlest head-slap she could muster.

* * *

The muster tent was erected in less than twenty minutes. The crew of stockmen and jackaroos knew what they were doing, and as the guy ropes were tightened and spikes driven into the earth, Gertie shifted a little, grunting as pain ran through her leg.

Eliot tolerated Jo drying his hair and cajoling him into dry clothes as he was lifted and settled onto a straw bale beside Gertie’s head. Jacko and Charlie stacked more bales behind the big camel, hoping to soak up as much water as possible if it dribbled beneath the tent flaps, and the edges were weighted down with stones. A ground sheet was soon eased beneath Gertie’s bad leg to keep the bandage dry, and a solid old wooden-framed camp bed was laid out beside her for Eliot. Pillows and blankets followed, and the hitter was soon ensconced beside his camel, as warm and dry as Jo could get him in the circumstances.

The first cracks of lightning arched across the west paddock as Jo made Eliot drink some hot soup, and Gertie flinched at the racket, bawling softly. She was terrified of lightning and thunder, but she couldn’t move. Eliot handed his mug to Jo and rested his good arm on her neck, giving her a gentle noogie to reassure her, and Gertie’s trembling began to ease.

“See?” Eliot whispered to Jo, “she’ll be easier in herself if I’m here. She won’t move.” He flicked a look at Jo, who sat on the bale beside Eliot’s camp-bed. “Sorry. I know … I’m a pain in the ass.”

Jo pursed her lips and arched a critical eyebrow at the Oklahoman.

“Understatement of the year, you idiot,” she said, and couldn’t stop a wince of her own as another crack of thunder echoed, a flash of lightning coming almost immediately afterwards. This time Gertie didn’t move, although she let out a nervous gurgle. Jo had to admit that Gertie and Eliot were two of a kind – brave, fiercely loyal and both of them bloody fools.

The rain began to batter the heavy waterproofed exterior of the tent, and Gertie snuffled wearily, trying to shift her head a little so that she could tuck it into Eliot’s protective arm. She was feeling very sorry for herself indeed.

“Easy, darlin’ …” Eliot crooned, and Gertie did her best to give him a camel-kiss, which made him smile. Gertie soon settled, and Eliot reached for the mug of soup. He was hungry, and Effie’s good, thick vegetable soup was just the thing to warm his belly.

Jo sat on the bale as the thunder made the air quiver with the din, and she studied the man sprawled under the blankets and propped up with pillows, carefully sipping the hot soup. He looked oddly content. _Well_ , she thought, that was just typical Eliot. Stubborn to the core.

She scratched Gertie’s curly head and felt the animal rumble to herself. Unlike Eliot, Gertie revelled in any attention she could get, and if she had been feeling any better Jo knew that the dromedary would have been slathering her in dribbly licks of affection.

“Eliot … son …”

Eliot savoured a mouthful of soup, swallowed and rested his head on the pillows.

“You can ask, Jo, but I ain’t necessarily got the answer just yet,” he murmured, a little amused despite his worry for Gertie.

Jo let out a huffy breath of annoyance, but she did her best to control her temper.

“Okay … okay, so whatever’s bothering you doesn’t have a solution just yet. I can wait. But you will tell us, boy, when you’ve come to a decision? And I suspect it has to do with this bombing in Washington. Am I right?”

Eliot shrugged uneasily.

“Nope. Not really. Well, maybe. A lil’ bit. It’s just …” he sighed, trying to work through the situation in his head, although he hadn’t had much time to face the issue as he had spent most of the past week or so as sick as a poisoned dingo and in his bed, weak and disorientated. And now, with Gertie’s life in danger, he hadn’t thought about it _at all_. “ … it’s somethin’ I have to figure out. Somethin’ I have to decide on and … hell, I don’t know. It’s been comin’ to a head for a little while and I thought I could ignore it, but … with gettin’ shot – _again_ – it just brought it home an’ I realised things have changed. I just haven’t figured out what my options are just yet is all.”

Jo pondered Eliot’s words. She could see the uncertainty on his face, and she knew she couldn’t push the issue … not yet.

“Alright then. But remember, laddie … your home is here. No matter what happens or whatever you decide, you can always come home to Wapanjara and to us, and you can stay for the rest of your days. You know that. And if your team -“

Eliot’s face tightened, and his blue eyes sparked.

“Yeah … my team. _My team_. There’s … well, I’m still thinkin’ it through, Jo.” The tension suddenly went out of him and he placed the mug of soup next to Gertie’s huge head. Her nose didn’t even twitch. Gertie, lover of all things edible - especially if she could steal them from Eliot – was too sick to notice. “Jo …” Eliot continued and held out his hand to grasp hers, “ … don’t worry about me, sweetheart. An’ thanks. Thanks for everything. All of you. In the end, you’re all I’ve got, and the only _home_ I’ve got. That’s why I’m here. I wanted to be back with all of you. _I wanted to come home_.”

The desolation in Eliot’s voice almost broke Jo’s heart. Whatever was going on with Eliot, it was eating him up, and he needed to be with them. She smiled tearily as he lifted the back of her hand to his lips and kissed it before letting go and resting back into his pillows, closing his eyes. It was obvious he wasn’t going to say anything else.

Sighing, Jo reached out, lifted the mug and stood up.

“Charlie will here soon to give Gertie more antibiotics, so both of you behave, y’hear me? And if you need us use the walkie-talkie,” she added, gesturing at the elderly contraption resting on the bale beside Eliot. “No heroics, boy! Are you listening?”

Eliot drowsy now and only half-awake, smiled, amused.

“I hear you. Go to bed, Jo. Gertie an’ me … we’ll be –“

“- _fine_ , yes, I heard you.” Jo jammed her hat on her head and turned up the collar of her waterproof coat, preparing to brave the weather. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours, Eliot, so … “ her voice tailed off as she saw that Eliot was already asleep. The light from the storm-lamp suspended from the tent-pole cast shadows over his face and smoothed out the lines of pain and worry. He looked younger … more at peace.

 _Yes_ , Jo thought. Eliot Spencer was going to be the death of her, she was certain. And easing back the flap of the big tent, she reluctantly stepped out into the storm-ridden night.

* * *

Charlie Jakkamarra was sitting at the ancient oak table in Wapanjara’s cavernous kitchen holding a dish-towel wrapped around a handful of ice against his jaw. Alice, not known for being the most sympathetic of people, sat opposite him, studying her husband’s scowling visage.

“Oh, stop being such a bloody wimp, Charlie!” she said, although she did think he looked sore. “You been clocked on the jaw harder than that by a newborn foal!” She leaned forward and gave him a kiss. “Poor thing,” she added a little more kindly. “Eliot didn’t mean to hurt you, you know that!”

Charlie’s scowl became thunderous.

“I know!” he retorted, and winced as his jaw objected. “The poor bastard was out of it and he just came up fighting. I know he does that, so I’ve only myself to blame.” His scowled softened a little as he saw the compassion in Alice’s beautiful dark eyes. “It’s just …”

“It’s just what?” Alice asked, tucking back Charlie’s dark curls on his brow.

Charlie shifted uncomfortably.

“Alice … can I ask you something?”

Alice frowned, puzzled. The man she loved dearly rarely looked so discomfited, and she could see the hesitation in every inch of him.

“C’mon, Charlie. Out with it,” she said, and she cocked her head expectantly. Something was bubbling under the surface in him, she could tell, and Charlie wasn’t the kind of man who found it easy to be secretive.

“Alice … I, um … I’ve been thinking … we’ve got some money put by, and … and … if it’s alright by you … mebbee I could, y’know, get a ‘plane ticket, and –“

Alice’s eyebrows almost disappeared into her hairline.

“A ‘plane ticket?? To where, exactly??” she demanded, somewhat alarmed.

Charlie cleared his throat before continuing.

“Portland,” he muttered finally.

This time Alice’s jaw dropped.

“Portland?? You mean _America_ , Portland? Where Eliot lives?? What the bloody hell for??”

Charlie dumped the towel full of melting ice-cubes into the big sink and sighed.

“Eliot … those people he works with … this … this _team_ … he said they left him, Alice! He got shot and they _left him!!_ Just like that, with two bullet holes in him!! He could have died!”

Alice heard the sudden hitch in Charlie’s chest and his voice was shaky with fear, and she knew that Charlie loved Eliot like a brother. To lose Eliot would have brought Charlie to his knees, and Alice also felt in her heart that Charlie would have never recovered from that loss.

“So … if you go to Portland, what will you do when you get there, _kali-nyanu?_ Hunt them down and spear them? Bone* them, maybe?? What? What can you do??”

She saw the tension in his bony shoulders and knew that Charlie Jakkamarra, Kurdaitcha Man of the _Warumungu_ , was duty-bound to exact revenge on those who had harmed or betrayed one of their own.

But Charlie shook his head, exasperated and obviously feeling somewhat confused.

“Nah, none of that, _kartungunyu_ , it’s just … I dunno … I have to do _something_ , even if its tracking these … these … _kuna_ … and finding out just what the bloody hell they were up to! At least then we’ll know, and I can make sure Eliot can stay here with us … where he belongs.” He gave a broken sigh. “Why did they leave him, Alice? He’s saved their lives more time than I can guess, and I thought they were his friends … _family_ , even … and now they do this?? I … I just don’t get it. I really just don’t get it.”

Alice’s heart ached when she saw the pain of loss and confusion on his face. Everyone at Wapanjara, even though they understood his murky past, knew Eliot Spencer to be fiercely protective of those he loved, and it was obvious that in his own taciturn way he loved the people with whom he had worked, lived with and guarded for five years. Charlie had _thought_ they loved him in return, so this betrayal was a huge blow to Charlie’s loyal heart. Eliot Spencer of the _Aniwaya_ was his brother in everything but blood, and he felt this betrayal keenly.

Alice leaned forward and cupped Charlie’s grief-stricken face in her hands and then she kissed him.

“My Charlie … my _yulkajirri_ … I understand, and if it’s true then we help Eliot however we can. But we don’t know if that’s what happened –“

“He said so, Alice!” Charlie rasped, anger once more rising in his heart, “he said they left! Effie heard it too!”

Alice shook her head, blonde-dark curls shimmering in the light.

“He was out of his head, love, you know that! It was the fever talking and we don’t know what he was seeing in his noggin, now do we?” She took a deep breath, steadying herself before continuing. “Look, Charlie … let’s wait until Eliot’s ready to tell us what happened, hey? He’s got a lot going on in that crazy white fella brain of his, and he’ll figure it out sooner or later. Be patient. He doesn’t find it easy to let people know how he feels, the drongo, so let’s give him some time to figure it out. Then we can see how we can help him. It makes sense. _But_ …” she raised her eyebrows, stopping Charlie’s burgeoning protest in its tracks, “ … _if_ he needs us … if it means going to bloody Portland to back him up with something, then we go raid the savings. And we _both_ go. How does that sound?”

Charlie shut his mouth, protests unspoken. _Bugger_. Alice was right. But then, she always was. He nodded reluctantly.

“S’pose.” He huffed, annoyed. “And I don’t think he’ll be coming to any decisions until Gertie’s sorted, one way or another.”

“Too right!” Alice replied, smiling at her husband, the man ready to back up his brother to the death. His loyalty and commitment to those he regarded as family was one of the reasons she loved him so much, even though he was a bit of a nerk sometimes. But Gertie’s dilemma sobered her thoughts. “Gertie … she … she’s going to be alright, isn’t she? I mean … Mulga bites aren’t as bad as some.”

Charlie wiped a hand over his face and thought about it.

“It’s not so much the poison I’m worried about,” he sighed, “it’s the bite itself. If it gets infected … the flesh could necrotise and if that happens … Alice, listen.” Charlie grasped Alice’s slender hand and held it tightly. “If … if it all goes to buggery and her leg goes bad, I … I’ll do the deed. I don’t want Eliot to have to put her down. I can do it. But I’ll need you to help keep him from doing anything dumb, because you know what he’s like – he’ll shut himself up inside and demand that he does it, and it’ll kill him. I know she’s just a bloody camel, but she means a lot to him – to _all_ of us – and I don’t want him to punish himself for something he couldn’t prevent.”

Alice placed her other hand on top of Charlie’s and squeezed.

“Always, Charlie. He’s my _juka_ , and I’ll do whatever I can to help. You know I love the daft sod.”

That made Charlie smile, and he caught Alice’s fingers in his.

“I know, I know. It’s just … he’s been through enough, y’know? He’s the toughest, hardest most dangerous man I’ve ever met, but deep inside … there’s something …” Charlie swallowed, struggling to make himself understood. Eliot Spencer was not an easy man to fathom at the best of times. “ … he doesn’t think he’s a good man. He sees himself as someone not worth the effort to save. When he first came here he told Jo to leave him alone … to let him die. It would be for the best, he said.” He cleared his throat so that he could form the words breaking out of his heart. “He has no bloody idea, Alice,” he said desperately. “And I don’t know how to make him understand he’s loved.”

Alice studied Charlie’s mobile features and nodded.

“He’ll figure it out one day, _kali-nyanu_. I know he will. It’ll just take time.”

So as the storm raged around Wapanjara in the early hours of a thunderstruck day, Charlie and Alice Jakkamarra sat silently in the kitchen holding hands, and worried desperately about the brother they both adored and a great big smelly camel who hovered between life and death.

* * *

The day dawned dull, wet and drizzly. Thunder still cracked over the South paddock, rolling rumbles echoing in darkened skies over the great billabong there, the water now flooding the always-parched land.

Cattle waded through the shallow water to reach the grass peaking above the surface, and brolgas stalked backwards and forwards seeking food amidst the reeds, their calls drifting through the water-laden air.

Gertie had made it through the night, which made Eliot breathe a sigh of relief. The longer she battled the venom, the better chance she had, he was sure. Charlie had checked the bite itself, and it was still worryingly swollen, the entire fetlock joint hidden in puffy, hot flesh. The swelling had spread though, which made Charlie frown. He had given the big camel another hefty shot of antibiotics, and there didn’t seem to be any discolouration of the flesh around the bite, so he would just have to be patient.

Eliot didn’t say anything. He didn’t ask about the bite or the swelling. He knew exactly what Charlie was fretting about, and words right now were useless. His only hope lay with the antibiotics and Gertie’s tough-as-nails constitution.

Eliot was helped to his feet by Jacko, the scrawny little man making sure the stocky American didn’t hurt himself as he levered his reluctant and very stiff body upright. Between them they managed to ease Eliot onto one of the straw bales.

Gertie tried to raise her head to see what Eliot was doing, and he was relieved to see that she was not as wobbly as she had been the day before. She chomped to herself, happier now that the thunder and lightning was moving away from the homestead, and she eased out her tongue to give Eliot a camel-kiss. She didn’t quite make it, but Eliot, pleased that she could even make the attempt, gave her a scratch as he settled on the bale beside her.

“BREAKFAST!!” came a coarse bawl, and there was Effie, throwing back the tent flap and hobbling in with a basket slung over one arm. The other hand held a flask, which Eliot guessed was filled with hot tea.

Within minutes Eliot was tucking into a roll filled with crisp smoked bacon rashers topped with a fried egg and a dash of Effie’s piquant sauce. The food was welcome and for the first time Eliot felt as though he was on the mend.

If only Gertie would rally. He saw her nostrils quiver at the smell of the food, and Eliot held his breath for a moment. He broke off a little of the bread and offered her the tasty morsel. Her lips twitched and she made a shaky effort to mumble the bread from his fingers, her tongue creeping out to taste the bread. It was only a tiny offering, but she managed to inhale it and swallow, her throat working as she hummed happily.

Eliot thought her breathing was a little easier this morning, and as he sat and drank a mug of tea sweetened with honey he watched her try to investigate his pockets to see if there was any more food.

Effie settled heavily beside him with a sigh, her bunions aching this morning as they often did in damp weather. She gave Gertie’s muzzle a quick scratch, and then she rummaged about in the basket, muttering to herself. Finding what she was looking for, she let out a soft bark of satisfaction and brought out a lidded container. Peeling off the lid, she saw Gertie’s ears prick, and Eliot couldn’t stop a smile of pleasure as Effie brought out a large, ruby-red strawberry, succulent and ripe, the rich, heady scent of the fruit filling the tent.

Gertie _loved_ strawberries. Apples and carrots were always favourites, but strawberries were the treat she adored, and she was putty in anyone’s hands who gave her the sweet, succulent fruit.

Jo had discovered one day that three-quarters of the strawberry bed in her garden was mysteriously bereft of fruit. Each stalk was still intact with its little coronet of leaves, but the actual strawberry was gone, removed neatly from its stalk, plucked in the night by a very able thief. She had suspected the stockmen, as most of them had a very sweet tooth, but it was Soapy who had discovered the culprit. He had awoken especially early one morning to get ready for a day of mustering a mob of fatstock from the East paddock, and wandering out onto the veranda he heard a soft squeak of pleasure. Making his way to the far corner of the veranda, he was surprised to see Gertie, standing next to the rabbit-proof fence around Jo’s garden, stretching out her long neck and almost standing on tiptoe as she did her best to reach the furthest strawberry plants, her tongue whiffling the leaves. He watched, mesmerised, as she maneuvered a particularly large strawberry into her lips. She made a strange, sucking sound and the strawberry was suddenly gone, vacuumed adroitly from its stalk and into her mouth. Pleased with her thievery, she sucked at the fruit in her huge jaws like a piece of candy, mumbling to herself as a little of the juice dripped from her lips. Once the strawberry was eaten, she repositioned her enormous body and went after the next fruit on the plant.

Jo had _not_ been pleased. Soapy had to admire Gertie’s thieving skills, but the fence had been heightened and Jo made sure to move her strawberry patch out of Gertie-range. Gertie had been shut in her humpy for a week until the fence was reinforced. The sulking and groaning had been utterly pathetic.

But now Effie was pleased to see the big beast showing an interest in food, especially her favourite treat.

She waved the strawberry in front of Gertie’s nose.

“Righto, you big hairy bastard! Let’s see if you can eat this!” she rasped, and Gertie raised her head. She was still wobbly and her control wasn’t great, but she fixed her bleary gaze on the strawberry and squeaked. Effie carefully held the fruit steady, and Gertie, hurting and woozy and still feeling rotten, managed to inhale the strawberry from Effie’s grasp.

Eliot grinned. His girl was managing to eat something as Gertie hummed, chomping weakly as she munched her favourite food, strawberry juice and saliva spattering clumsily over Eliot, the bale and Effie’s lap in equal measure. Swallowing her treat, she rested her head on Eliot’s knee and watched Effie intently, her one good eye following every move the old cook made. Effie lifted out another strawberry and Gertie’s squeaks turned into an eager rumble, her lips pursing and her long tongue creeping out to whiffle at Effie’s hand.

“Don’t be a lazy shite!” Effie growled affectionately as Gertie tried looking pitiful, hoping Effie would just place the strawberry on her tongue so she could eat it with little effort. “I’m not doing the work for you, so come on … eat proper!”

Gertie took the hint, and she carefully took the strawberry from Effie and ate it delicately but with some relish. She then ate the whole boxful, one strawberry at a time, although she was tired by the time she had finished. Eliot was deeply relieved.

“At least she’s got some of her appetite back, Eff. That’s good, huh,” he said with such boyish hope that Effie couldn’t help but smile.

“Listen, you young jumbuck, why not go back to the house and clean up a bit? Have a shower an’ get changed. Take a break. You look as stiff as a dead possum, boy, so go on – bugger off! This hairy blighter and me’ll be fine for an hour or so,” she added as Gertie gave out a soft _gurk_ , hoping Effie had more strawberries hidden about her ample person.

Eliot thought about it. A shower sounded heavenly, and he needed to wash off the stink of camel. He even thought that he might manage a short walk to the cattle yards and back if he took his walking stick. His leg wasn’t throbbing so badly and although his shoulder ached, it was less painful. He knew he needed a little exercise.

“You sure?” he asked, eyebrows drawn down as he studied Effie and Gertie, the animal lifting her head from Eliot’s undamaged thigh to nose at Effie’s apron.

“Bloody hell, laddie!” Effie groused as she helped Gertie rest her head on her ample lap, “Just go, will ya! The sooner you go, the sooner you get back to look after this daft thing, and then I can get on with making lunch.” Effie’s face screwed up in what she obviously thought was a smile. “Go, boy. She’s not going anywhere.”

Eliot took Effie at her word. Once he made his way to the house, Jo snipped off the bandages and he headed into the shower, enjoying the hot water as it slaked his body, washing away sweat and Gertie-smell. When he inspected his wounds he found they were beginning to heal despite the fall he had taken only two days previously. Jo re-bandaged his wounds and then helped him dress, and feeling a little refreshed and less stiff, Eliot set off for a short walk to the cattle yards.

* * *

Eliot inhaled the scented, rain-drenched air into his lungs, relishing the coolness after the days of fever and the stuffy heat of illness.

He could hear the lows and bawls of cattle in the pens beside the barn where the stockmen sorted them through chutes and checked ear-tag numbers. He wished he could help. It would take his mind off what was happening to Gertie. _Dammit_ , it would even take his mind off the situation with his team.

He limped over to the edge of the big concrete water trough beside the paddock fence and eased down onto it, stretching out his bad leg and leaning back against the heavy wooden slats.

 _His team_. Being on the horns of a dilemma, Eliot decided, was a massive understatement. He knew coming home to Wapanjara had been risky. He knew he had frightened the wits out of Jo and Soapy. He could see that the normally cheerful Charlie Jakkamarra was distant and dour, his dark eyes sparking with something dangerous. Alice was doing her best to deal with her simmering husband, but Eliot knew he had to come to a decision sooner rather than later because his lack of communication was causing issues with his family. _Goodness knows what Effie thinks about it_ , he wondered.

 _Shee-it_. He was a dumbass, and he had _really_ screwed up this time. Maybe … maybe when Gertie was back on her feet he would speak to Jo about his problem. His sigh of irritation made his shoulder ache.

It was time he got back to Gertie and let Effie get on with her day, so he struggled onto his feet, leaning heavily on the walking stick. But when he finally straightened and looked up, he discovered he was being watched.

Buster sat flat on his backside in the dusty yard staring at Eliot, his ears cocked and bright black eyes curious.

Eliot snorted even as he struggled not to smile.

“What’re you lookin’ at, you pain in the ass?” he said, and Buster’s stubby tail swept the red dirt of the yard as it twitched in a couple of hesitant wags. The pup stood up and ambled over to Eliot, and stopping at his feet the little dog looked up at the hitter.

Eliot couldn’t lean down to pat him, so he told the canine he was nothing but trouble, which Buster thought was a wonderful compliment and he let out a small bark of delight.

Eliot shook his head. _Damn_ , but the animal was a pest!

“C’mon, shithead,” he said, “an’ don’t get in my way, okay? You trip me up an’ you’re dingo fodder.”

As Eliot carefully made his way back down the incline to the yard in front of the homestead and the muster tent, Buster followed behind at Eliot’s heels, making sure the hurt human behaved himself and didn’t get into trouble. It seemed to Buster that this particular human attracted trouble like a magnet.

So keeping his eyes open for more slithery things with teeth, he rumbled quietly to himself and let the world know that Buster McPhee was wide awake and alert, at his post and protecting his tribe with his life.

* * *

The weather had turned drizzly by the time evening arrived, and Eliot, back in his blankets and propped up by pillows, watched as Charlie re-bandaged Gertie’s leg, strapping the swollen limb carefully so as to keep pressure on it without cutting off circulation.

“How’s it lookin’?” he asked as he finished his mug of tea. Gertie had laid her head next to Eliot so that she could nibble at his jacket. It was obvious that she needed the contact, and Eliot was relieved that she had eaten a little more during the day.

Charlie tied off the bandage and sat back on his haunches. He ran fingers through his riot of curls and he bit his lip, thinking.

“Well, at least the bite hasn’t got any worse,” he pondered. “It’s still badly swollen and she’s not out of the woods by a long chalk, but … at least it doesn’t seem infected. _Yet_.” He added, frowning.

Eliot rubbed Gertie’s nose with his good hand as she mumbled at his mug where it sat on the bale beside her. She was very fond of tea.

“That’s good, right?” Eliot asked. “The antibiotics’re kickin’ in, an’ she has a little bit of an appetite. Somethin’s workin’, Charlie. She’s doin’ better.”

Charlie shrugged helplessly.

“I think the anti-venom’s doing the trick, at least, but the bite’s a bad one. The snake bit her _hard_ , Eliot. It chewed the hell out of her leg, and pumped the poison deep. It’s really close to the joint, and even if the bite heals … “ He paused for a moment before continuing. “Eliot … listen … the joint might never come right. All those tendons and ligaments … massive inflammation could mean she might never be able to put her foot flat on the ground again.”

Eliot understood all too clearly what Charlie was saying. Gertie couldn’t spend her life as a cripple. It wouldn’t be fair. Muscles jumped along his jaw, his face tense with worry. If Gertie couldn’t walk … his face fell as the implications hammered his aching heart. Gertie had saved his life more than once, and he owed her. He would do his damndest to get her up on her feet and walking. But if she couldn’t … if the damage was too bad … then he would make sure she didn’t suffer. It was the least he could do for his friend.

“I’ll deal with it, Charlie. If she can’t get up … then I’ll look after her an’ make sure she doesn’t hurt anymore. She’s my responsibility, an’ … ” his voice, hoarse with worry, tailed off.

Charlie rested a hand on Eliot’s good shoulder.

“It’s not come to that yet, _papparti_. Let’s wait and see, hey?”

Eliot nodded. Charlie was right, of course. It was a waiting game, and time would tell.

As the young aborigine left Eliot alone and headed back to let Jo and Soapy know how Gertie was, the Oklahoman rubbed Gertie’s ears affectionately. Gertie squeaked, pleased at the attention, and she nuzzled at Eliot’s arm.

Rain began to patter on the heavy canvas of the tent, and Eliot knew he was in for another long night, but he was content to sit beside Gertie and make sure she stayed still and relaxed. His leg was aching badly because of the short walk to the cattle pens, but Eliot was glad he had done so. His head was a little clearer and he relaxed, resting his head on the pile of pillows. Gertie sighed and closed her eyes, happy in the knowledge that Eliot was beside her.

The pair of them were on the point of drifting to sleep when Eliot became aware of a solid, hairy little body clambering onto the blankets and tucking itself into his side nearest to Gertie.

Buster had decided to keep Eliot company and watch over his troublesome human.

Turning around and digging at the blankets in an effort to make himself comfortable, Buster looked up at the enormous camel lying next to him. The creature didn’t look too healthy, and as well as its normal stinky presence he could sense the sickness in the dromedary.

Gertie opened her eyes and suddenly noticed the pup. She didn’t have the strength to roar at the horrible thing, but she clopped her jaws together in surprise when the pup gave her a couple of sloppy licks on the muzzle. Eliot, surprised but amused, smiled drowsily as Buster settled himself down in the hollow between the hurt human and Gertie and promptly fell asleep.

When Effie arrived an hour later to check on Eliot and to bring him some supper, she was startled to see him dreamlessly asleep under his blankets, his hand on a snoozing Gertie’s head and a small white pup sprawled beside him, the terrier twitching as he dreamt.

“Will you look at that!” she said under her breath as she left the plate of sandwiches on the little camping table beside the sleeping trio. “Boofheads! The lot of ‘em. That’s what they are! Bloody boofheads!” And quietly turning back to the house she stumped through the rain, the grumpy sound of the little mopoke echoing through the drenched night and the ancient, great gum tree creaking softly in the dark wind.

 

To be continued …

* * *

 

 _Kali-nyanu_ – _Warlpiri_ kinship word for a woman’s husband.  
_Kartungunyu_ – _Warumungu_ kinship word for a man’s wife.  
_Kuna_ – _Warumungu_ word for, to put it politely, faeces.  
_Yilkajirri_ – _Warlpiri_ for ‘loved one’.  
_Juka_ – _Warlpiri_ kinship word for ‘brother-in-law’  
_Papparti_ – _Warumungu_ kinship word for ‘older brother’ or ‘big brother’.

* Pointing the bone – A fearsome curse that eats away at the person to whom it is directed. It is said to leave no trace, and never fails to kill its victim. The bone used in this curse is made of either human, kangaroo or emu, or even wood. The shape of the killing-bone, or _kundela_ , varies from tribe to tribe. The lengths can be from six to nine inches and look like a long needle. At the rounded end, a piece of hair is attached through the hole, and glued into place with resin from the spinifex bush. Before it can be used, the _kundela_ is charged with a powerful psychic energy in a ritual that is kept secret from women and those who are not tribe members. To be effective, the ritual must be performed faultlessly. The bone is then given to the _kurdaitcha_ , who are the tribe's ritual killers.


	9. The Future Comes Like Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A stricken camel and lots of talking. Not much else.

* * *

Eliot drifted awake to a tongue gently probing his left ear. It tickled, and he smiled lazily, still half-asleep.

“Hey, darlin’ … stop that now an’ l’lI get up an’ make us some breakfast. How does that sound? Maybe we can take it back to bed –“

The tongue wiggled and disappeared, only for velvet lips to wrap themselves over Eliot’s stubbled chin and begin to suck eagerly. Then the tongue returned, somehow sticking out to slurp up Eliot’s throat and adam’s apple. He cringed a little.

“Hey now, sweetheart … I ain’t in the mood, girl!” Eliot tried to carefully push his assailant away and the lips vanished, but the tongue rasped a slithery trail up the side of his face. This was getting just _too_ much. “ _Dammit_ , Gail! Gimmee a break here, will ya??” he grouched and wiped his cheek.

He heard an insulted gurgle, and this time the tongue and lips descended over his nose and some very large teeth began to nibble at the tip.

Eliot’s eyes snapped open. Nurse Gail sure as _hell_ didn’t possess such big teeth, and the last time she had paid any attention to his nose was to fix it after it was broken by a big Latvian goon with a fist the size of a melon.

“ _Jeez_ , Gertie!!” he wheezed, fighting off the camel’s slobbery affections as he did his best to wipe his nose free of camel-saliva.

“So … who is this Gail and why haven’t you brought her home to meet us?” Jo teased gently from her comfortable camp chair beside Gertie.

Eliot shifted and frowned, his wounds throbbing and muscles stiff from inactivity, and he saw the amused look on Jo’s lean face. He grunted noncommittally and rubbed Gertie’s nose. Gertie squeaked and shakily rested her head on the straw bale.

“Gail … she’s just a friend,” Eliot muttered as he heard the beginnings of rain pattering on the exterior of the tent. He guessed it was sometime early in the morning, but his internal body clock was shot to hell and he wasn’t sure.

Jo dropped the book she was reading onto her lap and cocked her head at the man sprawled on the old camp bed, an upside-down pup comatose and twitching on the comforter beside him.

“A _friend_ ,” she said, her voice soft with affection for her boy.

Eliot’s brow wrinkled as he thought about how to explain his relationship – or lack of one – to Jo, but the woman snorted, enjoying Eliot’s slight discomfort.

“With benefits?” she added, and chuckled at the slightly abashed look on Eliot’s face. “I may be old, laddie, but I do try to keep up with the lingo.”

Eliot, warm and not inclined to move, rested his head on the pillows and thought about his life back in the USA.

“Gail … she, uh … she’s a nurse. A pretty good one at that,” he explained, and he saw Jo’s mouth open to ask a question so nipped it in the bud. “And no, I didn’t go see her when I got shot. She lives in Boston, an’ couldn’t have dealt with diggin’ a bullet out of me anyhow, so … I came home.” He pondered for a moment, wondering how much to tell Jo without worrying her, but he decided Jo needed to know, considering how much he put her though. “We … we used to see each other sometimes. But we kept it pretty casual. She has her life an’ I got mine. She works full time, so … it was best that way. I couldn’t be bringin’ too much down on her ‘cause of what I do, so we kept it simple. Her life … it’s more complicated. I paid her for her time –“

Jo’s eyebrows almost hit her hairline.

“Paid her??“

Eliot scowled.

“ _No!_ That’s not what I meant! She’s gotta eat, an’ when she patched me up I’d stay a few days while she saw me through whatever was goin’ on with me … made sure I was healing okay. So I paid my way an’ made sure she didn’t do without anything. I saw she got her bills paid an’ she had food on the table. Plus …” he let out a wry smile, “ … she’s tall, blonde, legs a mile long an’ easy on the eye. Damn’ clever, too. One helluva lady.”

Jo sighed, still amused, but she couldn’t help the sadness in her heart. She knew that no matter how much she teased him about it, Eliot would never bring a woman home to meet them. There would be no family … no children. He was a nomad, and even if he returned to Wapanjara permanently, she didn’t think he would ever have a family of his own. He couldn’t take the risk of putting them in danger.

“Well, I’m glad at least you had someone there to turn to if you needed help,” she said, and settled back in her chair. For a moment she rested her hand on Eliot’s arm before lifting her book.

“Yeah … well … I haven’t seen her in a while,” Eliot murmured, his voice low and a little hesitant. “This past year … things have been kinda busy and with the move to Portland … well, it’s been a bit complicated. And this last thing we did – it was just Hardison, Parker and me. Nate an’ Soph … they were off doing their own thing, and … well, we did okay.” He grinned. “The bomb didn’t explode, we got the bad guy an’ the government covered our tracks. I’d call that a result.”

Jo raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. This was new information, and it certainly didn’t sound as though Eliot was upset with his team. _Or_ that he had been abandoned. Nate Ford and Sophie Devereaux hadn’t even been there. So … Eliot was beginning to loosen up about what had occurred, and with patience they would probably get the details.

Gertie moaned quietly to herself and shifted, her bad leg stretched out in front of her. She was tired of being sick and weary of lying down, and Eliot knew she really wanted to stand, but he was sure if she tried she would end up collapsed on her side, so he shushed her and rubbed her ears. Gertie’s moans turned to soft gurgles and she settled a little.

“That’s my girl,” he soothed, and Gertie squeaked happily. If Eliot was beside her, she would be still and do her best to be quiet.

“She ate a little bit of bread and milk earlier, as well as a few more strawberries,” Jo said, and scratched Gertie’s side which made the camel chomp with contentment. “Her appetite’s improving.”

Eliot was about to tell Gertie she was a good girl when Buster awoke with a start. He flailed a little, legs wiggling, before managing to right himself and he sat up, yawning noisily. His attempt to have a good scratch was foiled by Gertie, who suddenly discovered the yappy little terror who bit her tail was sitting next to Eliot.

Her ears tucked back and she scowled fiercely at the little dog, but she didn’t feel well enough to do any more, so she contented herself with a rumbly scolding, her cheeks pouching.

Buster, now fully awake, watched her intently. The damaged human who had allowed him to curl up on his bed laid a hand on the huge smelly thing’s head and made calming sounds, and the creature made a ridiculous squeaky noise, like an annoyed mouse.

Standing up, Buster tramped about on the recumbent human’s lap for a moment or two, which made the man wince and complain, but Buster ignored him and tried to scrabble up and onto the bale on which lay the hairy thing’s enormous head.

The nice lady who looked after his injured leg let out an amused chuckle, and grasping him around his middle she lifted him onto the straw, and Buster found himself sitting right next to the huge but smelly animal as it glared balefully at him out of its one good eye.

Gertie gurgled softly, annoyed but not feeling up to gnashing the pup into pieces. But her bubbly noises softened into pitiful squeaks as Eliot hushed her, and she felt his fingers rub her velvet-soft muzzle.

Buster, intrigued, leaned forward and very carefully sniffed the camel. Gertie growled uselessly. The pup, feeling braver now, stood up and stuck his nose in one of Gertie’s hairy ears, which made him sneeze. Gertie flapped the assaulted ear and chomped loudly, managing to shift her head around so that she faced the terrier, who watched her closely.

“Be nice!” Eliot warned, and he tapped her head with a forefinger.

Gertie, somewhat insulted, honked indignantly and went back to perusing the small canine now only inches from her head.

Curious black eyes studied her, and the stocky white body shifted so that the tiny intruder could reach out and pat at Gertie’s nose with a bandaged paw.

A horrified Gertie opened her mouth and let out a weak bawl, but the pup just cocked his head and listened, obviously mesmerised by Gertie’s enormous presence. Delighted by her response, Buster stood up and took a step forward before vigorously pawing at Gertie’s muzzle and letting out a fascinated whine.

“See?” Eliot murmured, “he just wants to be friends, you big moron. Live with it.”

Gertie rolled her eye at Eliot but she immediately returned to pulling faces at Buster, who took all of the attention as a signal that the camel was desperate to be his friend. He renewed his gentle assault on Gertie’s muzzle, and this time he nudged at her face before slurping a long lick with a pink tongue over her blind eye.

Starting with surprise, Gertie managed to lift her head, and this time she nosed at the small furry body invading her space, to which she objected mightily – or at least she was doing her best to give that impression. Buster did what he was supposed to do and flopped over onto his back, legs waving submissively, and let Gertie investigate him.

She squeaked and gurgled and mumbled. She nosed his hind end and glared at his stumpy tail, even as it wagged hesitantly. She took it between her lips and tugged at it, and even though Buster let out a little huff of worry, he stayed still as she left his tail to its own devices and mouthed at his bad leg. This time she managed to nip the bandage between her huge, yellowed teeth and tug at it. Buster whimpered a little and Jo was about to move him safely out of harm’s way, but Eliot raised a hand, silently asking her to wait for a moment.

As soon as Gertie realised that her tugging was hurting the little dog, she stopped, puzzled. This noisy little pest wasn’t as fierce as it pretended to be, she decided. _Hmmmm_. Letting go of the bandage, she whiffled at his tummy, which made Buster’s back leg kick spasmodically with delight, and then she turned her attention to his head.

“Be gentle now,” Eliot cautioned softly, and Gertie took him at his word.

Her long tongue crept out between prehensile lips and she stuck it in Buster’s hairy little ear almost in retaliation for the terrier’s assault on her own.

He sneezed, and even as he lay on his back he tried to scratch the tickled ear with a hind leg, which made Eliot chuckle.

Gertie, now a little amused, nosed the pup, and Buster, fed up of lying on his back, wriggled until he got his legs under him and stood up, sniffing at Gertie as she continued her inspection of him.

Within minutes they had the measure of one another, and Gertie, having now decided the small white dog was more or less harmless, rested her head on the bale, waited until Eliot’s hand settled on her muzzle, and wearily drifted into a pained sleep.

Buster studied Gertie for a few more moments before he too decided he was tired and needed more rest. It was raining heavily now, and he decided a toilet break could wait. So rotating clockwise for a few moments and digging at the straw, he curled up next to Gertie’s enormous head and fell promptly asleep.

“The rain’s supposed to last through the day,” Jo said as she studied Eliot. He looked wan and tired, but less worried. Gertie was obviously a little better, which eased his concerns. She wished he would go into the house and back to his warm bed, but she understood why he was here with Gertie. Without him the big camel would be stressed and fidgety, and she needed to be still as the venom lost its effect and she began to improve. Jo leaned down to the chiller beside her. “Are you hungry? Effie made sandwiches.”

Eliot thought about it. His stomach rumbled.

“Yeah … I could eat,” he replied, and Jo handed him a small package which contained some of Effie’s delicious ham and cheese sandwiches, made from the little cook’s own seeded loaf, which she knew Eliot loved. The ham was home-cured, smoky and delicious. Eliot had built Effie a smoker two years previously, and the pair of them had had a blast experimenting with smoking everything from barramundi to cheese. The flavour made Eliot’s taste buds sit up and take notice.

“I think both you and Gertie are on the mend,” Jo commented as she tucked into a sandwich of her own. “How are you feeling?”

Eliot chewed, swallowed and savoured the lingering deliciousness for a moment before answering.

“Better,” he admitted. “Itchy. Sore. Same old,” he added with a wry smile. “Leg’s aching like a bitch but that’s okay. The shoulder’s damn stiff though. It’ll take a bit of time to get it workin’ right. Parker’ll put me through hell when I get back to Portland.”

 _Ah. So he hadn’t been abandoned_ , Jo thought. _So why come home to Wapanjara?_

“So you _are_ going back?” she asked carefully, mindful of his comments when she and Soapy had found him at The Puddock’s Rest. He had said he needed to come home to Wapanjara, to the people he loved.

Eliot thought about it.

“I have to, Jo. Whatever I decide, I still have to go back.”

Once again Jo heard the hesitance in his tone. So, he still had decisions to make, she pondered.

The two of them ate their sandwiches and drank their tea in companionable silence as the rain hammered the canvas tent and a rumble of thunder echoed in the distance. Gertie twitched but didn’t wake, Buster snuggled tightly against her warm head.

Jo poured herself another pannikin of tea and studied the Oklahoman. He did look better, but his worry for Gertie was eating him up, as well as whatever was bothering him about his team.

“Eliot … do you remember stopping after we found you so we could clean you up before driving back to Wapanjara?” she asked, and sipped her tea.

Eliot frowned, thinking. He had been riddled with fever and pain when Jo and Soapy had picked him up, and his memory wasn’t the best.

“Yeah … yeah, I think so.” He quirked a smile, making the laughter lines crinkle the corner of his eyes. “Sittin’ on a rock with my pants down while you stuck a big damn’ needle in my ass,” he continued ruefully. “Is that the place?”

Jo’s lean face softened with memory, and her green eyes glittered in the glow of the storm lamp as the lightning cracked in the distant hills.

“Buller’s Creek. The place I was born and raised.” Jo said a little wistfully. “Sixty acres of bush my dad inherited from his dad and so on. His great-grandfather got hold of it by selection* around the turn of the century. The local squatters weren’t so happy about it, but the family stuck by their land and when my dad got it we could make a bit of a living there.”

Eliot heard the loss in Jo’s voice but said nothing. He knew there was more to come, and no doubt she had a point to make, so he concentrated on his own pannikin of tea and sipped it carefully.

Jo scratched Gertie’s neck and the big camel huffed in her sleep, happy for the contact.

“There was just my mum and dad and me, but we managed to scrape a living out of the land. We had a nice little house and grew some wheat and fodder. Ran a few sheep, that sort of thing. We didn’t have much, but we didn’t owe a thing to anyone and we were reasonably happy. I was home-schooled most of the time but I managed to get enough qualifications for me to go to college in Darwin to study nursing.” She paused for a moment, the memories suddenly overtaking her. “My dad, bless him, didn’t want me to leave home, but Mum … she talked him into it. Said it was the opportunity of a lifetime.” She grinned. “She was right. I loved the whole thing … a country girl in the big city … new experiences, new friends … I couldn’t get enough of it. And I wasn’t so far from home that I couldn’t go back every weekend or so.”

Eliot didn’t move, his attention still focused on drinking his tea and listening to the pelting rain outside, but he wondered what point Jo was trying to make. He thought about a young Jo, absorbing new places, new people and new experiences, learning to stand on her own two feet and looking forward to the rest of her life. But he guessed there was much more, so he shifted to ease his leg a little and waited.

Jo smiled sadly.

“I didn’t go back home as often as I should have done, but my mum was alright about it. She was understanding that way. My dad … he didn’t understand why I wasn’t home every weekend. Don’t get me wrong, Eliot. My dad loved me very much. I was his precious girl and he missed me a lot.”

Eliot thought of his own father, uncompromising, demanding and dour. There had been no reconciliation, even after he had reconnected with his sister and her family. The old man had been … _difficult_.

But he realised Jo was still speaking, and he put aside the feelings of anger that consumed him, even after all the years that had passed.

“But when I did go home,” Jo continued, “I began to realise something was wrong. My mum … she began to forget things … simple things, like where she kept her knitting or what she had planned for dinner. So was fifty-two years old, Eliot, and she had dementia.”

Jo’s voice broke a little and Eliot looked up at her and saw the unshed tears.

“Hey, darlin’ …” he murmured and held out his good hand to take hers, rubbing her knuckles tenderly, “you don’t –“

Jo patted his hand.

“Yes … yes, I do, son. There’s something I want you to understand.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “I left college and came home to take care of her, because my dad couldn’t do it on his own. That’s the problem with living in the bush – the support mechanisms aren’t there. Anyway … the dementia took her mind so quickly it was frightening. Within a year she didn’t know who I was … who my dad was. It was exhausting. She was lost, and it upset her. She would wander out of the house in the early hours and head towards the creek, or begin to cook food at midnight because she worried about there not being hot food on the go. She had no idea who she was cooking for, but she knew she had to make the meal. Dad and I took it in turns to look after her … keep an eye on her.”

Eliot gently enfolded Jo’s hand in his and held it tight, knowing she needed the contact.

“Somethin’ happened, didn’t it?” he asked as kindly as he could.

“Yes …” Jo replied, gazing into the darkness through the open flap, the rain silvered and needle-like in the reflected light of the storm lamp. “Yes, something happened. Dad told me to take the ute and go into Humpty Doo and get groceries. We did this every couple of weeks to stock the shelves. When I got back … the house was gone. The place was crawling with coppers and fire engines and there was an ambulance. Dad had dozed off on the veranda. Mum decided to cook. We had a gas stove … and, well you can guess what happened. She left the gas on, and … she died in the explosion. Dad survived.”

Eliot’s blue eyes were misty.

“Oh _jeez_ … _damn_ , Jo, I’m so sorry –“ he whispered, shock in every word.

Jo smiled tearily.

“No worries, boy. These things happen. My mum had died inside long before the accident. But my dad … he was a lost soul. He built a shack on the site of the house, told me to bugger off back to Darwin and my education and my posh friends, and then he settled down and waited to die. Which he did about six months later. I came home for the funeral, inherited what was left of Buller’s Creek and that was that.”

The two of them sat quietly for long minutes, each hanging onto the other’s hand in silent support. But Jo suddenly inhaled sharply and blinked away tears.

“What I regret most, Eliot, is not facing up to my dad and being there when he needed me, or at least sitting down with him and clearing the air between us. Life had changed and he didn’t deal with it. I _did_. I just wish he had been at peace with himself for those last months before he died. I had decisions to make and I didn’t make them in time. Perhaps if I had seized the day and told my dad what I thought the future might hold for me and what I could do to help _him_ , he might have lived a better, fuller life.”

Eliot lifted Jo’s hand and pressed a kiss to the bony knuckles.

“You did what you could, sweetheart. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

“And this from a man who spends his life trying to come to terms with his past, laddie!” Jo teased gently, humour breaking through the sadness. “Look, Eliot … I’m just trying to tell you that whatever this decision is that you have to make, don’t take too long, boy. Other people are involved, and if you leave it too late … well, to quote Eliot Spencer, shit happens. I left it too late to make things right with my dad and deal with his depression and guilt, and he died unhappy and full of grief.”

“So,” Eliot said quietly, “what you’re telling me is get my ass in gear, make my mind up and deal with the consequences.”

Jo shrugged.

“That’s about right. I know you have a lot on your plate right now and you’re still far from well, but it doesn’t stop you thinking it through. Talk to us, and if we can help, we will. And if you decide to stay permanently at Wapanjara, you will have a home for as long as you want it.”

Eliot nodded hesitantly. Perhaps he was avoiding thinking about the situation that bothered him. Being shot hadn’t helped, but maybe he was using Gertie’s injury as an excuse not to deal with it.

“Okay … okay, I gotcha.” He rested his head back on the pillows and listened to the rain and the distant storm. _God_ , he was tired. Jo eased her hand from his and tucked an errant strand of hair back from his forehead.

“Oh, and while you’re at it, I’d appreciate you letting Charlie and Effie know that your team didn’t abandon you,” Jo added with a hint of a chuckle in her voice.

Eliot’s eyes shot open.

“Abandon – are you _kidding me??_ ” When he realised that Jo wasn’t teasing him, he let out a growl of annoyance. “Dammit, Jo!! They didn’t leave me!! It was the other way around! I managed to give Hardison an’ Parker the slip and came home!!”

“Well, as far as I can tell, Charlie’s on the point of heading to Portland to hunt your entire team down and spear them and Effie is itching to slip strychnine into their food, so if you could possibly stop the pair of them from doing something they might regret, I would be most relieved!” Jo continued, and poured herself a final pannikin of tea.

Eliot, angry, embarrassed and very weary, glared at Jo, muttered something seriously rude, and closed his eyes. Perhaps if he slept a little more, things might seem clearer. And as he slowly drifted into troubled sleep, he thought of Jo and her tragic youth, and once more pondered the relationship he had with his own father. And always in the back of his mind was his team … his family … and what they had come to mean to him over the past few years.

Jo lifted her book and sipped her tea, watching Eliot sleep, and as the lightning cracked and glimmered in the sky, in her mind’s eye she heard her mother’s voice and saw the love shine from green eyes so like her own, and the loss broke her heart all over again.

* * *

For the next couple of days Gertie and Eliot both continued to improve.

Soapy and Jo sat with the huge camel so that Eliot could take a break. He showered, checked his wounds and ate whatever Effie put in front of him. He then went for a slow walk to the yards or along the track, trying his best to strengthen his weakened muscles and gain his balance. He also did a lot of thinking.

The weather improved a little and the yard dried easily in the heat, so Jacko and Chalky took down the muster tent and let Gertie get some fresh air. The big camel honked happily and chomped as Eliot sat beside her on the straw bale, and she nosed at his bad leg, concerned for him. Buster wormed his way between them and batted at Gertie’s nose. Gertie tolerated his attentions and even gurgled when Buster sat beside her, his bandaged leg pressed on her muzzle to keep her still as he studiously washed her face.

But Gertie was becoming fidgetty, so Charlie hunkered down beside the dromedary’s stretched-out leg and carefully removed the compression bandage.

Eliot, stiff and sore, watched as the bandage was removed and Charlie eased off the dressing over the puncture wounds just above Gertie’s fetlock. Once this was done Charlie sat back on his heels and studied the damage.

Eliot winced. The entire joint was spongy and swollen, the damaged flesh stretching from her foot to halfway along her shin. The hair had begun to wear off, and the wounds were looking raw and painful.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Eliot asked finally.

Charlie lifted his hat, scratched his curly head and then put his hat back on.

“Well …” he pondered, tugging at his lower lip thoughtfully, “the poison’s out of her system, but it caused a lot of inflammation in the joint. But we knew that, Eliot. Look, I think the bite’ll be alright, but the long-term damage … you do know she may never be able to walk right, don’t you?”

Eliot nodded wordlessly. He knew very well what the consequences could be.

“Yeah … I know.” He watched as Gertie, now free of the constricting bandage, shuffled about and sighed as she managed to shift her injured leg into a more comfortable position. She muttered as the pain hit, but she tolerated it and burped up some cud, chewing methodically. She was obviously feeling much better.

Charlie stood up and slapped Eliot’s good shoulder.

“We’ll just take it a day at a time, _papparti_ ,” he said, trying to be as reassuring as he could. “Once she feels like standing up, maybe some exercise will help. And she needs to be up on her feet sooner rather than later. But she’ll carry the scars, brother. You know that.”

Eliot nodded.

“Scars are nothin’, Charlie. Not to me. Gertie an’ me … we’re bust up, but we survive. We’re both tough. We’ll make it somehow … both of us.”

He rubbed a hand over Gertie’s head, his fingers running over the blind eye and the scarred muzzle. Gertie had survived abuse and human cruelty and infection, and she would survive this if Eliot had anything to do with it.

Charlie studied the American and his camel and shook his head, privately concerned that Gertie wasn’t as tough as Eliot believed her to be. But he wouldn’t give up on either of them. Perhaps he should speak to his great-grandmother’s sister. Auntie was a healer and she might know something which would help the big dromedary.

But Charlie’s musings were interrupted by Eliot, sitting quiet and still beside Gertie.

“Charlie … sorry I took a swing at you,” he said a little ruefully.

The aborigine snorted.

“You didn’t just take a swing, mate – you clocked me right on the jaw, you bugger,” he replied somewhat indignantly. “I owe you one.”

Eliot nodded, grinning.

“Yeah, well … maybe one day I’ll deserve a punch in the jaw. Just the one, though.”

“Cheeky sod,” Charlie complained under his breath, but he squeezed Eliot’s arm affectionately. “Are you doing okay, brother? Are things sorting themselves out in your noggin?”

Eliot thought about it for a moment.

“I’ll heal. Charlie … “ he hesitated for a moment before continuing, “Charlie … my team … they didn’t dump me, brother. I, uh … I was the one who abandoned _them_.”

Charlie’s dark eyes widened in surprise.

“Bloody hell, Eliot! But … but that’s not what you said! Eff told me you kept yelling at ‘em, telling ‘em not to leave –“

“Bad dream, Charlie. That’s all. I saw them –“ he paused, gathering his wits about him, “ – I saw them die, _kukkaji_. I saw them die and I couldn’t save them and it was _my fault_. They left me and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.” He let out a shaky breath. “Just a fever dream is all. My head was just a little mixed up.”

“So … why did you leave ‘em for real? Why did you take a chance and come home if they were there for you? You could have bloody well died, you silly bastard!”

“I had to do some thinkin’ and I couldn't do it with them around me.” Eliot let slip a wry smile. “Man, are they gonna give me hell when I get back.”

Charlie stared at the Oklahoman, disbelief on his handsome face.

“Y’know, Eliot … sometimes I just don’t understand what goes on in your Yank head, you idiot!” He sighed. “Oh well … I suppose you’re still working stuff out, hey?”

Eliot nodded thoughtfully.

“Yeah. Still thinking it through. I have to figure out where I go from here. Maybe in a few days I can let y’all know what I’m gonna do.”

“Well, don’t keep us waiting too long, Eliot. Alice and me … we want you to stay. Permanent-like.” Charlie gazed steadily into Eliot’s blue eyes. “This is your home, Eliot Spencer of the _Aniwaya_. This is where you belong.”

Eliot didn’t reply, but Charlie saw the pain in the man he regarded as his brother. Effie was right. Eliot could be such a _boofhead_ sometimes.

Eliot’s eyes crinkled into a smile.

“I hear you, Charlie Jakkamarra of the _Warumungu_. An’ I promise I’ll make a decision soon and let you guys know what’s been buggin’ me for more than a while.”

“You do that, Yank,” Charlie grated, and then leaned over to give Gertie a scratch. Gertie squeaked, enjoying the attention, although she didn’t stop chewing her cud. “But let’s see how this big hairy arse is doing first, hey?”

“Yeah … yeah, Charlie. And thanks. You an’ Soapy saved her life,” Eliot continued, and Gertie swallowed her cud so that she could give him camel-kisses.

Charlie winced, amused.

“That ruddy beast loves the bejeebers out of you, that’s for sure,” he said, and not waiting for an answer, he turned and headed back to the house, intent on telling Effie that there was no need to exact revenge on Eliot’s errant team because Eliot was the one who abandoned _them_.

* * *

For a few days Eliot kept an eye on Gertie, and she in turn fussed over Eliot. Buster guarded them both, and Gertie became used to the small pup, now also free of his bandage, as Buster settled himself between Gertie’s knees and fell asleep propped against her chest.

But the camel made no real attempt to get onto her feet. She shifted and gurgled and her hind end rose a couple of times, but her swollen leg was obviously still bothering her, and she didn’t seem to want to stand.

Eliot limped from the house one lunchtime with sandwiches and a little bowl of strawberries, and eased his sore frame down onto a bale, now beginning to look a little saggy from Gertie’s huge head resting on it as she snoozed.

Gertie immediately began to chomp eagerly as she spotted the strawberries, but Eliot left the bowl out of reach as he ate his sandwiches. He fed her a couple of crusts and studied her damaged leg. Still swollen and obviously very sore, he was worried that if she didn’t move soon she would begin to get pressure sores on the joints of her other limbs, and if that happened she was in even deeper trouble. In the humidity and heat the sores would be difficult to heal, and Gertie, although still on prophylactic antibiotics just like himself, would probably not survive. She _had_ to get onto her feet.

So, that was Eliot’s plan for the day. He was sure that with encouragement and the temptation of her favourite fruit, he would manage to urge her to stand, even though her leg was still swollen and the joint inflamed. Exercise would help reduce the swelling, Eliot knew.

Grasping the bowl, he managed to get to his feet and clipped a lead rope to Gertie’s _bosal_.

“Okay, you big moron, up you get!” he cajoled, and tugging the rope gently he held out a strawberry.

Gertie’s ears pricked and Buster scurried out of the way from his place at Gertie’s chest, realising he might just be in danger of being squashed. Gertie stretched out her neck as far as it would go and her prehensile lips pursed, eager for the delicious strawberry, but Eliot kept it just out of reach.

She honked, somewhat annoyed, but Eliot was unrepentant.

“C’mon, you idiot! You gotta stand, gal, y’hear me?” he urged, and waved the strawberry under her nose.

Gertie rumbled and complained, but Eliot didn’t move. He was pleased to see her back legs begin to bunch under her and her backside started to rear into the air. She was shaky and a little uncoordinated, but at least she was making the effort.

She opened her mouth and bawled, objecting to being made to move, but finally her back legs supported her and she was halfway to being upright.

Eliot grinned.

“Okay … good girl … just keep goin’ sweetheart, and you can have your treat. Hell, you can have the whole damn bowl if you stand up!” he said eagerly, and Gertie stuck out her tongue hoping Eliot would place the fruit on it. But he was steadfast and refused, once again pulling gently on the rope.

“Hut-hut!” he ordered softly, and Gertie, always obedient, suddenly managed to get her good front leg under her and finally, _finally_ , rose to stand triumphantly in the yard.

“Good girl!” Eliot was relieved beyond belief and held out the strawberry. “That’s my girl!” he crooned, “Who’s a brave camel, huh??”

Gertie eagerly reached out for the strawberry and by doing so put her damaged leg on the ground.

It was then that the whole plan fell apart.

Eliot only just managed to leap out of the way as Gertie staggered and fell heavily, collapsing in the yard and sending up puffs of dust as her huge body made the ground shake. She lay on her side, honking pitifully, and Eliot, sprawled beside her, did his best to cradle her head as she began to panic.

“ _SOAPY!!”_ he yelled, “ _JO!! I need help here!!”_ he bellowed, and Gertie’s terrified honks brought members of the crew from the yards and Soapy and Jo ran from the house, down the veranda steps and were at Eliot’s side in moments.

Gertie, trying and failing to right herself, was struggling in terror, unable to understand why she had fallen and why her leg would not support her. Eliot hung onto her _bosal_ , uttering soft, calming words as the camel fought to find a way to sit up.

“ _Eliot! Let her go, boy!_ ” Soapy yelled as stockmen arrived to pull Eliot out of the way and to help the panicked dromedary to sit back up onto her chest, her back legs under her.

Within minutes Gertie had calmed down, but Eliot, held tight in Jo’s arms as Effie kneeled beside him, struggled to get to the fallen camel so that he could check her injured leg.

“Jo!” he gasped, “lemmee go, will ya?? I have to see if –“

“She’s fine, son,” Soapy interrupted, running hands over Gertie’s leg and making sure she hadn’t hurt herself. Gertie was trembling but calming down, and Effie, picking up the fallen strawberries, fed them one by one to the stricken animal. Gertie soon began to hum, her fear subsiding.

“What the bloody hell happened?” Jacko demanded to know as the other stockmen shifted a couple of the bales to help Gertie sit upright.

Eliot’s blue eyes were full of anguish and his chest heaved, his wounds throbbing.

“She can’t stand up!” he said hoarsely. “She tried puttin’ her weight on her bad leg but it wouldn’t hold her. She couldn’t even manage on three legs! Somethin’s not right, Soapy. The joint’s no good. She’s crippled!”

Soapy, looking at Gertie as she sat like a shipwrecked vessel in the red-dust yard, shook his head as he saw the strain on Eliot’s pale features.

 _Well_ , he thought. _This is a bit of a bugger_.

 

To be continued …

* * *

* In the 19th century, the British government claimed to own all of Australia and tried to control land ownership, ignoring Aboriginal sovereignty. Farmers of livestock (some of them ex-convicts) claimed land for themselves and thus were known as squatters. The successful farmers became wealthy and powerful, setting up empires which extend into the present in some cases.  
  
Selection referred to "free selection before survey" of crown land under land legislation introduced in the 1860s. These acts were intended to encourage closer settlement, based on intensive agriculture, such as wheat-growing, rather than extensive agriculture, such as wool production. Selectors often came into conflict with squatters who already occupied the land and often managed to circumvent the law.


	10. The Coming Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A stubborn camel and a worried hitter.
> 
> Author’s note: Auntie is of a generation which suffered greatly at the hands of government interference and widespread racism. Warumungu as a language almost died out, but she, like many of her people, spoke it in defiance of the divisive education system. Her speech patterns are those of a woman for whom English is very much a second language and typical of the mores of her childhood. 
> 
> As always, any Warumungu and Warlpiri translations will be at the end of the chapter.

* * *

For three days and nights Eliot sat by Gertie in the winnowing summer heat. The nights were clear and star-filled, even as the moon hung bright and sharp and scudding, tiny clouds cast flitting shadows, children of the vast sky, ever-moving and rimmed in silver.

The days were all washed blue skies and murmuring trees, the wittering cries of the galahs sounding as they flew in yammering flocks to the billabong, the ever-present scent of jasmine and roses becoming heady perfume in the heat of the afternoon.

But Eliot noticed none of these things. His was a world of worry and sleeplessness, sitting as he did beside Gertie as she lay helpless in the homestead yard. She ate well enough though, and she settled her great head beside Eliot on her big straw bale, dozing in the shade of a couple of wide-slung sun brollies which Effie had dug out of the store in the barn.

Eliot knew Gertie had to eat to keep her enormous rumen working, so he made up mashes of soaked sugar beet and bran with supplements to keep her system balanced, and he laboriously chopped vegetables and fruit into tasty fibre-filled snacks to keep her interested and her gut working. Effie scoured her huge walk-in refrigerator for little morsels to tempt Gertie, and created a Gertie-bucket where she saved every trimmed cabbage and cauliflower leaf and fruit trimmings to add to Eliot’s mashes.

But no matter what she ate and how well she was doing, Gertie made no further attempts to stand up.

On the third day after her fall, with Eliot sitting beside her on his recliner with his right hand on her head and a book in his other, they were disturbed by the sound of an old landrover making its way down the road from the stringybarks and through the gate by the ancient gum tree. It pulled to a halt in front of the veranda steps, and the passenger door opened to let a very old woman slip carefully from the seat.

Charlie, who had just finished checking Gertie’s leg, stood up and grinned.

The tiny woman, whose mop of white hair contrasted sharply with her dark, wrinkled skin, grinned toothlessly as the driver of the vehicle ambled around to stand beside her.

Charlie raised a hand in greeting.

“G’day Pops … Auntie … it’s good to see you!” he called out.

Charlie’s father Billy, an even bonier version of his son, nodded and grinned.

“Ah-roo, Charlie!” he called, and patted the old woman on the shoulder. “Go on, _jaaju_ … go have a look at the big bugger.”

Auntie turned around and heaved an old woven-grass bag out of the landrover and slung it over her shoulder.

“Hey, big-fella white-fella!” she called out to Eliot, who put down the book and eased his aching body to its feet. “Yer camel’s crook, hey?”

Eliot limped forward to take the bag from Auntie and leaned down to kiss the tiny woman’s cheek. Delighted, the elderly Aborigine patted his cheek in return.

“Thanks for comin’ Auntie,” he murmured. He looked up to see Billy join them, standing beside his son. “Good to see you, _kampaju_ ,” he added, holding out a hand which Billy shook with alacrity.

“No worries, _kukkaji_. Charlie says your girl’s all banged up. You had the vet look at her?”

Eliot nodded.

“Rey came out a couple of days ago. She said the poison was out of her system but the joint’s inflamed. She x-rayed it, but couldn’t see any damage to the bone.” Eliot paused, taking a deep breath. “She thinks the ligaments and nerves are screwed up some though.”

Rey Bianchi, the Tennant Creek veterinarian, had called by at Eliot’s request while on a routine flight to a couple of the neighbouring stations. Her old R44 helicopter carried everything from dart guns to a portable x-ray machine, and she had hummed and haa-ed over Gertie’s leg. All she could do, she said, was prescribe some pain medication and suggested Eliot should try and get Gertie moving. The longer she sat, Rey added, the more compromised her body would become. Eliot had a lot of time for Rey Bianchi, so he took her comments on board although he had already guessed her diagnosis.

Auntie squatted down beside Gertie and made clucking noises at the camel. Gertie squeaked pitifully at the ancient Aborigine and gave Auntie a couple of camel-kisses, which made the frail-looking woman giggle happily. She took her healing-bag from Eliot’s hand and rummaged about inside, pulling out several packages, all of them carefully wrapped in stringybark leaves and tied tightly with grass-twine.

“Hot water!” she demanded without looking up, and began to unwrap one of the packages. It contained what appeared to be small, reddish dried fruit, and she dug out a handful and then groped inside the bag for an old bowl decorated with some faint markings which Eliot didn’t recognise.

Charlie promptly headed into the house, and Effie appeared minutes later, stumping down the steps while carrying the medikit and followed by Charlie carrying Effie’s old catering kettle, steam escaping in endless coils from the spout.

The handful of small fruits was soaking in hot water within moments, and Effie sank down onto the straw bale beside Gertie to watch Auntie work.

“Silly bastard,” she said affectionately to Gertie as she rubbed the camel’s ears. Gertie turned her head and rested her muzzle on Effie’s lap, looking for sympathy, which Effie instantly gave by petting the animal’s velvet nose. The little cook looked up at Eliot, who was standing beside her intently watching Auntie. She could see how gingerly he held himself, and he was obviously hurting. She tugged at his shirt. “Sit!” she ordered, and while Eliot growled, irritated at still being – in his eyes – feeble, he eased into his recliner and stretched out his bad leg.

Once the water had cooled a little, Auntie began to mash the rehydrated fruit and water, turning it into an orange-red pulp. She took a field dressing out of the medikit and dumped the fruit pulp poultice onto the thick, absorbent padding.

“What _is_ that?” Eliot asked, curious now. He thought he was fairly knowledgeable about bush medicines, but these fruits were new to him.

Auntie, now studying the bite area and the swollen joint of Gertie’s leg, didn’t bother to turn around.

“’Roo apple,” she murmured quietly. She finally decided how to apply the dressing so that it would have the most effect, and placing the pulp-covered pad over the bite wound and the fetlock itself, she carefully bandaged the swollen joint and used a huge diaper pin from her bag to fasten it. “There. It good-oh for now.”

Eliot’s brows drew down in puzzlement.

“Kangaroo Apple*? Thought you didn’t get those around here. I’ve never seen ‘em anyway. I thought they grew down south an’ in Taz**.”

Auntie waved a wizened hand at the Oklahoman.

“I get ‘em sent,” she said dismissively.

“Sent?” Eliot asked, watching Gertie lift her head from Effie’s lap to investigate her new bandage. “From family?” He knew Auntie had a grandson working in Hobart.

She grinned, charming the wits out of him.

“Nah,” she replied. “Ebay. Charlie buy me an iPad.”

Surprised, Eliot let out a snort of amusement and was about to say something when Auntie raised her hand once again, stopping his words before they were even formed. Then she extended her forefinger and ran it gently down Gertie’s forehead.

“ _Warra angi apan?_ ”she asked in a voice so low it seemed to be coming from her chest, “ _Murrumurrujinta angi?_ ”

Gertie studied the old woman carefully with her one eye and gave out a series of musical squeaks in answer, shifting her legs under her as though to test them. She was very vocal, as all camels are, but being in the company of humans as much as she was, Gertie had become quite the conversationalist. She squeaked and gurgled as Auntie murmured quiet words of care to her, as though the camel was answering the healer’s question about whether she could walk or did it hurt her to stand. Auntie chuckled to herself and nodded, and Gertie began to honk softly, chomping and pouting her cheeks.

“Bloody hell!” Effie whispered to Eliot, who was watching all of this with frank astonishment, “the hairy big bugger’s telling her some bleedin’ tale, that’s for sure!”

Eliot glanced at Charlie and Billy, expecting smiles of amusement, but the two men were standing with their arms crossed, faces serious and both of them respectfully silent.

Auntie suddenly let out a wheezy cackle of laughter, and still listening to Gertie’s ramblings, she wrapped up the rest of the dried Kangaroo Apples and handed them to Eliot.

“Do as I do five days, Eliot,” she instructed, “it’ll help the swelled bits.” She studied the American for long moments and then leaned forward, touching the bandage still wrapped around his chest and shoulder. “You a silly bludger, Yank. Worse’n a _warlura_ , hidin’ under a rock.” She tapped the place over his heart. “You an’ them long-way people … you strong together, like a pack of dingoes.”

And with that she hoisted her tiny body to its feet and lifted her healing-bag. She patted Eliot’s head as though he was a child and gave him her gummy grin.

“Bloody camel gotta get up but she scared, _kukkaji_.” She waggled a finger at Gertie and then at Eliot. “Both of you, stupid as a galah.”

And before a very surprised Eliot Spencer could say a word, Auntie was off, bag over one shoulder and heading for the landrover.

Billy raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

“Looks like we’re leaving,” he sighed. “I was hoping for a cuppa, but when the old _puliki_ gets like this … well, you don’t bloody argue.”

Gertie was still talking, this time focusing on Eliot who rubbed her head as Effie stood up and hobbled as fast as her bunions would allow to the veranda steps, waving a hand at Billy.

“Hang on, Bill!” she yelled, “I got lamingtons you can take with ya!”

Billy helped Auntie into the landrover and then trotted up the veranda steps, Effie meeting him at the door into the hallway. A brown paper bag containing the treasured lamingtons was handed over with thanks, and once Billy eased into the driver’s seat, Auntie purloined the bag and delved inside. Bringing out one of the coconut-chocolate squares, she took a bite and chomped happily, waving at Eliot and Charlie through the window as the landrover trundled up the road to the stringybark stand and over the hill, back to Tennant Creek and the rest of their sprawling family.

Eliot turned back to Gertie, who was doing her best to rest her head on his lap, all the while muttering and squeaking softly as though trying to explain how terrible she felt. He winced as she pressed on his wounded thigh, and he awkwardly moved her head onto the straw bale where she could rest more easily. He scratched her forehead, and she hummed with contentment.

He studied her carefully. She seemed bright enough in herself, and her appetite was almost back to its pre-snakebite levels, and Gertie certainly enjoyed her food. Unlike his own appetite, he admitted privately. Whenever he was hurt his eating habits took a hit. For a man who loved to eat, Eliot thought, he didn’t do himself any favours when he was trying to recover from illness or injury. It drove Effie crazy.

“Y’know what? You an’ me, girl … I got a feelin’ folks think we’re dumbasses,” he said, voice soft and gentle. Gertie closed her eyes and her humming deepened. Eliot loved her and would do anything for her, she was certain, so she would sit quietly beside him and await the delivery of her next meal. “Well …. You have an excuse, darlin’ … me … I ain’t so sure.”

Charlie was still standing, watching the landrover’s dust fade in the distance as it trundled along the dirt road to the Stuart Highway, two hours away. He scratched his still-bruised jaw thoughtfully, and then turned back to Eliot.

“She’s going to have to get on her feet, mate … you know that,” he said, and hunkered down beside the American. He saw the concern deepen on Eliot’s face, and knowing the man didn’t want a repeat of Gertie’s bad fall, he held up a hand, stopping Eliot’s worries before they began. “I know, I know … and I honestly don’t want to push it brother, so let’s see how the poultice works for the next few days. But sooner rather than later she needs to get off her bum and see how the leg holds up. How does that sound?”

Eliot nodded, thinking about Charlie’s idea.

“Yeah … Auntie said the big idiot scared herself when she fell. You’re right, Charlie. Give her a couple of days with the poultice an’ then we try again.” He leaned over and rumpled Gertie’s ears and the big camel _gurked_ affectionately.

Buster appeared as though from nowhere, nosing around the bandage on Gertie’s fetlock which earned him a rough mumble from the camel, her lips nibbling at his ears. Buster ignored her attentions and investigated the huge pin in the bandage, the latter of which in his opinion smelled very odd. His tail went rigid and quivered gently, and Gertie stopped bothering Buster’s ears and her gaze settled on the pup’s stubby tail. She harrumphed and carefully inhaled the tail, holding it with infinite gentleness between her lips. She set up a soft hum.

Buster started in surprise, but didn’t try and remove his tail from Gertie’s grasp. He flopped down where he was, rested his head on Gertie’s knee and promptly went to sleep. Gertie settled her huge head beside him and began to doze, still holding gently onto the tip of Buster’s tail. She continued to hum to herself as she slept.

“Well, brother … looks like you have a resident camel sitter,” Charlie mused, and nudged Eliot. “Go eat and take a walk. Your girl’l be fine, no worries.”

Eliot got to his feet and studied Gertie and Buster. For two deadly enemies they seemed to have sorted out their differences, and Buster’s presence seemed to sooth the dromedary.

“Yeah. They look settled enough for now.” He glanced at Charlie, seeing the frown on the young station manager’s face. Gertie’s situation was obviously causing him concern. “Thanks Charlie. Y’know … for askin’ Auntie and your dad to come look at her.”

Charlie shrugged.

“If it helps, then no worries.”

The two men stood in silence for a minute or two, and then Charlie headed back to the office in the barn to organise the next few days of work with Soapy and Jacko, leaving Eliot to his own devices.

Eliot studied Gertie and Buster. Both animals seemed relaxed and not about to descend into warfare, so he decided to take a chance and leave them be for an hour or so. Gertie was certainly better, but he just wished she would get onto her feet.

Sighing, Eliot headed towards the veranda steps. He would take a quick shower, eat some lunch and then try a walk to the old stump and back. He really, _really_ needed to do some thinking.

* * *

Over the next two days, Gertie ate, slept and enjoyed all of the attention she was getting.

Whoever was in the yard, from Soapy to members of the crew, they all stopped to give her a scratch and whatever treat they had hidden in their pocket. Even Effie stumped down the veranda steps and slipped the ailing camel some left-over sponge cake. She decided Eliot could do without the sweet pineapple treat, and anyway, Gertie needed it more than the American did. The Yank was up and about and obviously on the mend, whereas Gertie was still very much an invalid and had to keep her strength up.

Gertie took the sweet offering with great decorum and her eyes closed as she mumbled the cake, savouring the delicate flavour. Buster enjoyed his piece of pork crackling and the two unlikely friends sat happily in the sun, finishing their treats and fussing over Effie with camel-kisses and a few nudges from Buster, the pup hoping for more food.

Eliot helped Charlie change the poultice on Gertie’s leg, and both men were relieved to see some reduction in the swelling around the fetlock. Gertie fussed over them as Charlie bound a fresh poultice over the joint, and Eliot sat beside her as she complained about having to put up with Charlie’s gentle care. But she still made no effort to stand.

* * *

On the third day after Auntie’s visit, Charlie and Soapy decided it was time to try once more to get Gertie onto her feet. Eliot made up a bucket of her favourite mash, laced with over-ripe, aromatic bananas and chopped apples, and all three men stood in the yard in the morning heat and studied the object of their attention.

Gertie sat comfortably on her chest, three of her legs tucked neatly underneath her. The injured leg stuck out sideways a little, awkward and obviously sore, but that didn’t stop Gertie from raising her head expectantly, ears pricked, as she spotted the bucket of feed. She shook her head hungrily, flapping her lower lip and spattering the three men with spittle, which made them cringe.

“Bloody hell, you silly old bugger!” Charlie muttered, and wiped saliva from his face.

Gertie honked and stretched her neck, trying to catch the edge of the bucket sitting at Eliot’s feet. She pursed her lips and then stuck out her tongue, but couldn’t quite touch the rim, which made her gurgle impatiently.

Charlie hunkered down beside her and clipped a lead rein onto her bosal, and Soapy moved to her other side and place the veterinary medikit on the ground beside him, ready to move the big straw bale out of the way in case Gertie tripped on it as she got to her feet _. If_ she got to her feet, Eliot wondered as he lifted the bucket.

He dug out a handful of feed and glanced at Charlie, who nodded silently. They were ready.

“Okay, you big moron,” he said with feeling to Gertie, “c’mon now. You gotta make an effort, sweetheart,” and he held out the handful of feed, which Gertie inhaled with obvious pleasure. She hummed and smacked her lips, savouring the sugary tang of the bananas and beet pulp. Once finished she eagerly whiffled at the fingers of Eliot’s outstretched hand, carefully sucking the left-over pulpy mess off his skin, which made the Oklahoman grin.

“Hungry, huh?” he asked, and Gertie turned her attentions to the bucket which Eliot carefully held out of range as he limped a couple of steps backwards. “Now, darlin’, no more food until you get those legs workin’. You can’t sit in the yard for the rest of your life, so … _hut-hut!_ ” he ordered, and out of the corner of his eye Eliot saw Charlie tighten his grip on the lead-rein.

Gertie, annoyed, gaped her mouth and chomped huffily, but she began to try and heave her rear end into the air. It wobbled a little, but Gertie was too focused on the bucket of feed to worry about it, and she once more stretched as far as she could to get at the tasty bucketful.

“That’s my girl!” Eliot whispered, and held out the bucket, offering it just out of reach of Gertie’s prehensile lips.

For an agonisingly long minute Gertie did her best to get her hind legs under her, raising herself onto her front knees to do so. Eliot kept up his soft, encouraging words, meant only for her, and both Soapy and Charlie marvelled at Gertie’s eagerness to please him. She began to squeak, her unique way of telling Eliot she loved him, especially when he was giving her treats. Heartened, Eliot fished a strawberry out of his shirt pocket and gave it to her, and Gertie mumbled juice down her chin as she sucked at the sweet morsel. When he held out another handful of feed, the camel tried to get her uninjured front leg extended so that she could fully stand and Eliot thought for one heart-stopping moment that she would manage to hoist her huge body upright. But to his dismay she hesitated and then sank back onto her knees.

“Eliot!” Soapy let out a warning, “keep her like that for a minute, will you?”

The old pastoralist quickly darted forward to check Gertie’s hind legs now that she was managing to support her hindquarters. He had a couple of gauze pads in one hand which Eliot knew were soaked in antiseptic, and Soapy quickly gave the bony part of her stifles a thorough cleaning. Camels rested on their stifles when sitting down, and Soapy was concerned about pressure sores.

“She okay?” Eliot asked as Gertie squeaked tremulously, a little shaky now and obviously unwilling to try any further attempt to stand.

“Hang on …” Soapy said as he brought out some ointment from the medikit and smeared it over each stifle. “She’s got a couple of raw patches, but it’s not as bad as I thought it might be.”

Gertie let out a _gurk_ and surprised Eliot by shuffling forward on her knees, trying to avoid the slight sting of the antiseptic while surreptitiously attempting to get close enough to Eliot so that she could stuff her head into the bucket, knowing once it was in there Eliot had no chance whatsoever of getting Gertie’s huge head out of the bucket until it had been licked clean.

If the situation hadn’t been so serious it would have made Eliot laugh. The sight of an enormous camel with its rump in the air and shuffling around in the yard on its knees while jamming its head in a bucket was so absurd, he thought, he would have hauled out his cell phone and taken a picture.

But Gertie made no further attempt to get her front legs working properly, and after a minute or so and after shuffling her way across the yard towards the veranda steps, Gertie allowed her hind end to subside and she sat down once more, tucking her legs under her.

Eliot let out a gusty sigh and waved at Charlie.

“She ain’t gonna try again today,” the Oklahoman said bitterly as Charlie reluctantly unclipped the lead rope, “she’s done for now.”

“Well, at least she’s moving a little, which is better than nothing.” Soapy lifted the medikit and came to stand by Eliot. Lifting his hat, he scratched his head and pondered the situation. “Maybe … maybe if we just keep at it over the next few days she’ll finally get it into her noggin to stand up.”

Charlie shrugged and watched as Gertie did her best to lip the edge of the feed bucket so as to tip it and spill the contents, but Eliot lifted the container out of her reach.

“That’s all we can do, brother,” Charlie murmured, resting a hand on Eliot’s good shoulder. “We gotta keep trying, hey?”

Eliot shifted uneasily. He was beginning to tire and his wounds were protesting, but he didn’t want to acknowledge the weakness still riddling his damaged frame. Right now he was too worried about Gertie to be bothered about his injuries.

“How’s the big bastard doing?” Effie asked grumpily as she hobbled out of the house and onto the veranda, Buster tagging along behind her.

Eliot didn’t seem to hear her, but Charlie turned and shrugged, his mobile features saying far more than words ever could. Effie could see the concern in his dark eyes and she bit back a curse. She did her best to be positive.

“Well, she’s shifted, ain’t she? She’s moved … what … ten feet, mebbee? That’s better than her just sittin’ there like some big useless lump,” she commented gruffly, muddy eyes soft with compassion despite the scowl on her face.

Buster made his way down the veranda steps and ambled over to Gertie, who grumbled at him as he investigated the bucket. He quickly stole a lump of banana before an incapacitated Eliot could stop him, but the pup realised banana wasn’t quite the same as a delectable chunk of roast lamb and he spat it out. Gertie speedily vacuumed up the partly-masticated fruit and then licked Buster’s face, cleaning up sticky, over-ripe banana from his whiskers. The pup stoically put up with the long, wet tongue washing his entire head and sighed as he plumped his backside down in front of the camel. He began to pant in the heat.

Eliot lifted the bucket and placed it before Gertie, who gurgled with delight and stuffed her muzzle into it, chomping through the delectable contents. Buster sneezed as food spattered over him, but he didn’t move. Gertie would no doubt clean him up afterwards.

“Guess we’ll try again later, huh,” Eliot pondered unhappily, but Charlie shook his head.

“She’s done enough, I think. Let her rest for today, and we’ll have a go again tomorrow morning before it gets too hot. Then if she doesn’t get up, we’ll try in the evening. We’ll just keep at it, brother. Give her a few days, hey?”

“Well, at least she doesn’t seem to need the straw bale anymore,” Soapy said with an upbeat tone in his voice. “That’s a step forward.”

“Not much of one,” Eliot rasped, and ran his fingers through his hair. “She’s strugglin’ to get the bad leg under her.”

Soapy shrugged.

“Yes, well, so did you, mate.” He gestured at Eliot’s injured leg. “You’re upright, aren’t you?”

Eliot shook his head.

“Yeah, but I’m usin’ a walking stick, Soapy, an’ I _want_ to get onto my feet! She’s lookin’ as though she’s given up!”

The three men and one little cook studied Gertie as she greedily chomped her way through her bucket of feed, little hums and squeaks drifting through the air as she enjoyed every bite.

“Stupid great drongo,” Effie said. “The silly bastard’s just frightened the bejeebers out of herself when she fell, Yank, that’s all.”

Charlie hunkered down beside Gertie and gently checked the bandaged joint and Gertie’s foot, now clear of any dressings.

“Well, there’s no heat in the foot, anyway,” he said thoughtfully, brows drawn down as he thought it through. “No infection either. She’s been lucky. The swelling in the joint’s gone down a good bit, so really, unless there’s damage we can’t suss out, it’s just going to be a waiting game.”

Eliot rubbed his wounded shoulder. It was aching like hell and his leg hurt, and worrying about Gertie for some reason made it worse.

“She can’t stay sitting down for the rest of her life,” he groused, irritation beginning to take over from the worry. “If she don’t get up, then …” he tailed off, knowing all too well what the outcome would be. Gertie, despite her present reasonable condition, would soon begin to deteriorate, and Eliot wouldn’t let her suffer.

“If we could get her to the barn, we could put her in a sling, maybe?” Alice said as she came out of the house to join Effie. “Would that work?”

Charlie tugged at his bottom lip, thinking.

“I don’t think it would work, _kartungunyu_ , to be honest.”

Alice trotted down the veranda steps and crouched down beside Gertie as she finished her food. Gertie swallowed, burped, and then tried to give Alice camel-kisses. Alice grimaced but scratched the camel’s huge head. Gertie hummed.

“But they do that with racehorses with broken legs and stuff,” she insisted, and thought about the situation. “She could go in the barn, Charlie. We could use the digger to move her and –“

Charlie shook his head.

“Nah. We’d have to sedate her to move her, and I really don’t think that’s the problem to be honest. The leg’s healing although I have no idea how sound the joint is, but there’s no reason she can’t stand on it, even if she’s lame.”

Alice hugged Gertie but Buster, feeling ignored, ambled over and demanded attention by batting at Alice’s leg. Alice gave the now-soggy dog a pat, covered as he was in camel spittle. She sat down cross-legged in front of Gertie, who gazed at the young woman with blatant adoration. Gertie loved Alice very much.

“Now, listen to me, you fibber!” Alice scolded with great kindness. “I know you’ve been a bit crook, but now you’ve got to stop sitting here doing bugger all, you lazy galah!”

Gertie chomped and flicked her ears, listening intently. Smiling, Alice rubbed Gertie’s nose.

“You have to get up, _jiliwirri_.” Alice’s voice dropped to a whisper, and Gertie reached out to touch the young woman’s cheek, squeaking to herself. “I know you’re hurting and I know you’re scared, but make Eliot happy, because the daft jumbuck’s worried sick.”

Gertie’s squeaks became deep hums, and Alice grinned. She looked up at Eliot and saw how stiff and sore he was.

“Go on, _papparti_ ,” her tone was warm with love for the man she regarded as family, “get some rest. Gertie, Buster and me … we’ll be fine.” Her white, cheery smile warmed Eliot’s battered heart.

Eliot knew she was right. He was exhausted and desperately needed to get some sleep, something which had mostly eluded him since Gertie was bitten. He had caught an hour here and there, but his usually robust constitution was badly compromised, and he really needed to recharge his batteries.

“Okay … okay, darlin’, I’ll go catch some zees for a couple of hours.” He leaned over and gave Gertie an affectionate, one-handed noogie. “An’ you!” he growled, and Gertie pricked up her ears. “You can sit on your ass for now, but you’re gonna get up, y’hear? So stop bein’ such a wuss. I’m gonna give you a couple of days, but after that …” he tailed off. To be honest he had no idea what he would do if Gertie stayed down. He really didn’t want to think of the consequences.

His friends watched as he turned and slowly gimped his way up the veranda steps and into the house, Effie watching him with worry in her old eyes. She could see the beginning of defeat in him, and Eliot Spencer was not normally a man who gave up on _anything_.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Well,” she told herself. “Worryin’ don’t get peach melba squares made, now does it?” And cursing softly, she made her way back to her cavernous kitchen and her plans for that evening’s dinner.

* * *

Over the next few days there was a concerted effort to get Gertie onto her feet. Twice a day in the cool of the morning and late evening, Eliot arrived with her bucket of feed, Charlie hanging onto a lead rope and Soapy trying to keep the sores on her stifles from getting any worse.

But all Gertie did was shuffle. She realised very quickly that Soapy needed access to her hind legs to treat the raw places there, so she obligingly positioned her bulky body so that she rested on her knees with her rump in the air and patiently waited as Soapy cleaned the sore patches and treated them with antiseptic ointment the pastoralist used for cuts and infection on cow’s udders***, intended to keep the flies away while also helping the injuries to heal.

Afterwards, as Eliot cajoled and swore and urged Gertie as gently as he could, Gertie happily shuffled about the yard on her knees. She became quite adept at it, and at least, Soapy said ruefully, she was on the move. But no matter how hard they tried, Gertie wouldn’t get up on her forefeet.

There was a steady stream of visitors through the day. Members of the crew made excuses to drop by, usually with an apple or a piece of cattle cake, and with surreptitious baby-talk they did their best to urge Gertie to stand up. She gurgled happily, squeaked and shuffled, but she wouldn’t even try to use her bad leg.

Eliot caught Chalky squatting in front of the huge camel and feeding her marshmallows, which Gertie took very delicately and sucked them to nothing, her sweet tooth getting the better of her even as Chalky told her she was a stupid drongo who didn’t know what was good for her. The Oklahoman didn’t have the heart to grouse at the scrawny stockman as Gertie told Chalky with a barrage of gurgles that marshmallows were _bonzer_. To prove her point she searched Chalky’s pockets but found nothing. Her squeaks of disappointment were nothing short of pitiful.

But even as she shuffled about the yard, ridiculous as it was, it became increasingly obvious that Gertie was beginning to deteriorate. Although her appetite was reasonable, the hollows of her bony head were becoming more pronounced and despite Soapy’s best efforts, the sores on her stifles weren’t healing. Constant contact with the dusty yard’s surface and the attentions of the flies were beginning to tell on her, and one morning she seemed a little depressed and didn’t want her breakfast.

Eliot spent the morning sitting with her and quietly but with hidden desperation trying to feed her by hand. Gertie ate a few mouthfuls, but all she really wanted to do was rest her head on her best friend’s lap and be fussed over. She didn’t even react to the rumble of distant thunder as it made its way over land from the south.

Charlie watched and fretted, seeing how Eliot did his best to keep the camel interested by feeding her sliced carrots and apples. Gertie whiffled at them and ate a few, but she seemed listless and unhappy. Charlie knew it was the beginning of the end. Gertie’s spirit was beginning to flag, and despite Eliot’s entreaties, all spoken with the gruff voice he reserved for children and animals, Charlie realised that Gertie was reaching the end of her formidable resilience.

“She’s not going to get up, is she?” Effie whispered as she stumped out of the house onto the veranda, a big metal bowl containing fruit and vegetable trimmings held in one hand.

Charlie shook his head, sadness in his dark, expressive eyes.

“Nope. She’s done, Eff. She’s giving up and there’s nothing we can do about it. There’s nothing _Eliot_ can do about it,” he added as he watched Eliot, with infinite patience, try to cajole Gertie into eating a strawberry. She mumbled at the sweet fruit, but she dropped it and left it untouched on the ground.

“Bloody hell!” Effie hissed, “she’s had it, Charlie, ain’t she? I mean … she’s not … she’s just … oh, bugger it! What do we do now?”

Charlie’s gaze turned bleak.

“Tomorrow morning, I, uh … I’ll deal with it. I’ll make sure she feels nothing, Eff. But I can’t let Eliot put the old girl down. I just _can’t_. It would kill him too.”

He felt a hand on his arm and Jo was suddenly beside him, her lean face full of compassion.

“Whatever needs to be done, laddie, we’ll back you up – and we’ll cope with Eliot, no worries. I just wish …” she paused and sighed brokenly. “Oh, I don’t know _what_ I wish. Maybe … maybe I just want Eliot to stay and Gertie to get up off her bum, and for everything to be back the way it was. But we all know life’s not like that, hey,” she added, and squeezed Charlie’s arm.

But as they all stood and watched as Eliot leaned back on his old recliner beside Gertie and let her rest her bony head on his lap, they didn’t see Buster wander out of the house and make his way down the veranda steps. But he didn’t join Eliot and Gertie this time. Instead he turned and worked his way under the veranda, sitting in the shade as he perused the big hairy thing which had saved the injured human’s life and his own.

Lying down, he rested his head on his paws and beetled his eyebrows as he pondered the situation.

And as the air became more humid and the temperature rose, the lightning flickered over the hills and the rolling rumble of the thunder lit the darkening sky, and Gertie, for the first time in her life, didn’t seem to care.

 

To be continued …

* * *

 _Jaaju – Warumungu_ kinship word for mother’s mother or her brothers or sisters. _  
Kampaju – Warumungu _kinship word. It can mean father, cousin … it all depends on tribal structure and kinship moiety. _  
Papparti_ – _Warumungu_ kinship word for ‘older brother’ or ‘big brother’.   
_Kukkaji – Warumungu_ kinship word for ‘baby brother’ or ‘little brother.’   
_Puliki_ – _Warumungu_ word for ‘cow’.   
_Warlura – Warumungu_ word for ‘gecko’.   
_Jiliwirri_ – _Warlpiri_ word for ‘silly person’.  
  


* Kangaroo Apples, when used as a poultice, are a natural source of steroids and are very good for swollen joints when applied directly.

** ‘Taz’ – Aussie phrase for Tasmania.

*** ‘Golden Udder’ cream is also very good as a night cream, would you believe.


	11. Where Lies Our Future Track

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desperation, sadness, angst, and loss of hope.
> 
>  
> 
> Apologies for the delay, but a massive chest infection knocked me for six. I'm now back on track.
> 
> As always, Warumungu translations at the end of the chapter.

* * *

Eliot sat wearily on his recliner beside Gertie. The big camel was unusually quiet … no silly squeaks or loving hums … no _gurks_ or harrumphs or raspy gurgles. Her head lay on Eliot’s lap and his left hand rested on her muzzle, and the American could feel the slight shiver in her breathing, and he instinctively knew she was slipping further into a world from which she would never return. If he paused his gentle rubbing of her velvet nose she moved her head, nudging and needy and so, _so_ quiet.

She lipped at his sleeve and he shifted slightly so that Gertie could tuck her nose under his elbow, the extra contact helping her settle a little more.

Charlie hunkered down beside the American, sitting on his heel and resting an elbow on his knee. He lifted his hat, scratched his head and put the hat back on.

“Eliot, mate …” he began, his voice low and steady in the humid air, “We, ah … we have to talk, brother …”

Eliot didn’t look at him. He managed to run a fond hand over Gertie’s head, and the big camel tried to give his wrist a camel-kiss. For long minutes Eliot didn’t speak, but he finally nodded reluctantly.

“Yeah, Charlie. I know.” His twisted smile was rueful and heart-broken. “She ain’t doing so well, huh.”

Charlie shook his head, hating every moment of this unfolding tragedy.

“No, _papparti_. She’s not. We can give her another day, but …” his voice tailed off as the thunder rumbled in the far reaches of the distant hills.

Eliot couldn’t help himself. He let out a desperately broken sigh, and knew deep in his heart that he would have to let Gertie go if she didn’t get onto her feet. She was beginning to suffer, and Eliot would never allow that to happen to his girl. He nodded.

“ _I’ll_ do it,” he said with a finality that made Charlie’s kind heart ache. “I won’t let her hurt any more, Charlie. I’ll make it right for her.”

Charlie reached out and scratched Gertie’s ears, but the huge camel just closed her eyes and nuzzled Eliot weakly. She didn’t make a sound.

“Nah, Eliot,” the young station manager replied, and the Oklahoman heard the pain in his voice. “I can’t let you do that.”

Eliot’s growl of protest wasn’t lost on him, but Charlie grasped Eliot’s good shoulder and squeezed.

“I _can’t_ , brother. It’d kill you inside, and I won’t allow it, Eliot Spencer of the _Aniwaya_. Besides …” he cleared his throat of heartache before continuing, “ … you probably couldn’t aim straight, you daft bugger. Not with your right arm all wonky like it is.”

Eliot’s blue eyes sparked angrily, letting his grief spill helplessly as Gertie gently shoved her head into his stomach looking for comfort.

“ _Dammit, Charlie!!_ I can use a gun just as well with my left –“

“I know, I know!” Charlie quirked a sad smile, “but that’s not the point, you dozy bludger! No need to go berko!! I, ah … I know how much you hate guns and … well … anyway … look,” he added, trying to be as placatory as he could, “it’s just … it’s just … I know how tough it’ll be, Eliot. _Please_ … let me do this for you. _For Gertie_.”

Eliot was silent for long minutes. Charlie knew he was thinking it through, but even as the American pondered the situation he rested his hands on Gertie’s enormous head, gently rubbing and stroking the animal’s soft muzzle. Gertie mumbled at Eliot’s fingers as he tended to her, and she licked his arm. She gave out a soft, unsteady squeak, breaking her silence.

“Okay … _okay_ …” Eliot finally said, his voice barely a whisper. “I got the rest of the day and night with her. We’ll do it tomorrow morning.” He gave a huffing sigh now that he had made the fateful decision. “Just … be quick, Charlie. So she won’t know. I’ll be with her so she won’t get uppity.”

Charlie nodded, relieved, but not relishing the prospect. Tears pricked his dark eyes, but his resolve was firm. He would do this awful thing so Eliot wouldn’t have to.

“She’ll not feel a thing, I promise. And I’ll find somewhere nice to put her afterwards –“

“In her paddock, Charlie. Under the mulga. Can we do that?” Eliot’s voice was steady now but Charlie knew heartbreak when he heard it.

“No worries, mate. Under the mulga it is.”

Eliot nodded, feeling once again the shiver in Gertie’s breathing. His girl was fading, but she wouldn’t be in pain any longer and Charlie would make sure she was cared for.

Gertie, unaware of her fate, was content to sit by her friend and listen to his voice, which calmed her. Finally discovering the strength to let out a gurgly sigh, she chomped and gave a tiny hum of contentment. Eliot’s broken smile finally shattered Charlie’s heart.

“Anyway …” he said and stood up, trying to shake off the dread in his chest. “ … I’ll go get some food for the pair of you, hey? How does that sound?”

But Eliot didn’t reply, and Charlie rested a hand on Eliot’s arm for a moment and then turned back to the house, leaving a dying camel and a heart-sore American under the darkening clouds, the blinding flicker of lightning glittering over the land they both loved.

* * *

Alice was waiting for Charlie in the huge Wapanjara kitchen. The look on her husband’s face as he walked through the door answered her question before it was even born.

“Oh! Oh no!!” she gasped, dark eyes wide with shock, “You can’t, Charlie!!”

“Bugger!” Effie’s voice rasped from her place at the big stove where she was making soup. She flung the spoon into the sink with a curse. “She’s not going to get up, is she?”

Charlie shook his head and dumped his hat on the table.

“Doesn’t look like it, Eff.” His frustration was driving him to distraction. “And it’s not as though she can’t, the silly big bastard! She just won’t make the effort. She’s decided she can’t stand and that’s that, and it’s killing her.”

Alice flung herself into Charlie’s arms and he held her tight, nuzzling the mass of blonde-dark curls under his chin. He could feel Alice’s body tremble.

“We can’t leave her to get any worse, _kartungunyu_ , and she’s beginning to go downhill fast. I never thought the big hairy bugger would be such an idiot. I … I can’t fix this, and I …” Words finally failed Charlie Jakkamarra. He had never hesitated about putting a suffering animal out of its misery. It was not an uncommon occurrence on a station the size of Wapanjara, whether it was a cow down after a bad calving or a sickly calf. It was a job every stockman hated but it was a sad necessity when dealing with thousands of cattle and a number of horses, all roaming the huge, rambling paddocks thousands of hectares in size. But Gertie … she was special. And she was Eliot’s.

Charlie knew Eliot Spencer was a pragmatist and never turned away from making difficult decisions, but this was _Gertie_. Grumbly, squeaky, smelly Gertie, giver of camel-kisses and lover of strawberries and carrots and above all, Eliot Spencer. She had saved his life more than once and had protected him with a ferocity that would put a grizzly to shame. And now Charlie would have to end her life because the stupid big boofhead was too scared to stand up.

Effie swore quietly but thoroughly and dropped her bulk onto a chair.

“Are you sure, laddie?” she rasped, muddy eyes shining with tears.

Charlie nodded, and Alice held him even tighter.

“I’ll let Soapy and Jo know when they get back,” he added softly. The pastoralist and his wife were on their fortnightly visit to Tennant Creek to get supplies and to bank a couple of cheques from livestock sales. They had hesitated to go, but Eliot had waved them away, telling them that he and Gertie would be just fine. They would be home soon, heading straight into the oncoming tragedy.

 _This was going to be bloody awful_.

* * *

“Are you sure?” Soapy asked as he dumped bags of dried goods onto Effie’s huge old kitchen table in the late afternoon. They had returned home as quickly as they could, unwilling to leave Eliot and Gertie any longer than they had to.

“She’s not making a go of it, Soapy,” Charlie replied, exasperation in every word. “She just won’t stand, and we’ve got no way of forcing her.”

Jo stood beside Alice, chewing her lower lip.

“Surely we can do _something!_ ” she said, but Alice shook her head. Jo could see her eyes were puffy from crying.

A heavy rumble of thunder echoed through the air from somewhere to the south, and the humidity in the air was almost claustrophobic in its density. The house was heavy with grief, untouched by the flicker of lightning which illuminated the kitchen through the window.

Charlie growled helplessly, and leaned over to kiss Alice’s cheek.

“I need to get some air,” he rasped. “I’ll have to think about keeping those stubborn buggers out there dry somehow. Maybe I’ll get Jacko to break out the tent –“ he stopped in mid-sentence and his eyes suddenly widened. “Soapy … how long d’you think it’ll be before the thunder’s overhead?”

Soapy shrugged.

“Thirty minutes or so. Maybe a bit less. Why?”

Charlie’s eyes sparked with something akin to hope.

“That’s what I thought. Soapy … listen … I need the Webley.”

Alice clutched at Charlie’s shirt, suddenly alarmed.

“You … you said you would do it _tomorrow_ , Charlie! Not now! _Please!_ Eliot needs –“

Charlie reached out, cupped Alice’s face in his hands and kissed her as hard and as lovingly as he could.

“Trust me, Alice! That’s all I ask! Just … trust me!” He gave her the flashing smile she adored, and seeing something glint in his black eyes, she swallowed nervously.

“But … but what about Eliot? He –“

Charlie gently eased Alice’s concerns by smoothing her frown lines with a finger, and then cocked an eyebrow at Soapy.

“Let me do this, mate. If it doesn’t work … then we’ll make sure Gertie doesn’t suffer and Eliot will have her until tomorrow. I promise he’ll have long enough to say goodbye.”

Soapy glanced at Jo who nodded, and Effie let out a grunt that could have meant anything, but Charlie took it as affirmation for his wild plan, whatever it was.

Without saying a word, Soapy headed into the office and unlocked the small gun safe on the wall behind his desk. There he kept his old Webley revolver in its army holster. Nearly ninety years old, it had belonged to Soapy’s father and the pastoralist kept the gun in excellent condition. Its .38 calibre bullets still packed a punch.

He arrived back in the kitchen in minutes and handed the weapon to Charlie along with a box of ammunition. Charlie loaded the gun, leaving an empty chamber under the hammer for safety. Five rounds would be more than enough for what he wanted, the young station manager was sure.

“What are you going to do??” Alice demanded, but Charlie just hefted the Webley and turned to his wife.

“I need you lot to take care of Eliot,” he said, “while I deal with Gertie. He’s going to chuck a bloody wobbly and I can’t have the narky bastard going off like a frog in a sock and doing himself a mischief.”

There was a collective sigh of agreement from the people in the kitchen, and Soapy hitched his shoulders as though preparing for battle – which, Charlie thought, was probably going to be the case.

“But why don’t you just tell him what you’re going to do?” Alice insisted, her brow furrowed and dark eyes wide with worry.

Charlie shook his head.

“Won’t work, Al. I need his reaction,” he added cryptically.

Alice was even more confused, but she saw the determination on the face of this man she had loved all of her life, and nodded reluctantly.

“This plan … are you sure you have a chance of it working, because if it all goes pear-shaped and Gertie’s upset for no reason, Eliot will never forgive you, love. You know that.”

Charlie anxiously tugged at his lip for a moment, and then his eyes cleared.

“If it doesn’t work, I’ll take that chance. But we have to try it, _kartungunyu_ , because if we don’t I’ll never forgive myself.”

All of them saw the desperation in the young man’s face and knew the truth of what he said – it was worth a try, even if it failed and Eliot hated him for it, Charlie knew he would live with it because he had done all he could to save the animal.

Jo sighed and hugged Soapy’s arm.

“We have to try, dear, don’t we? For Eliot – _and_ Gertie.”

“Too bloomin’ right, Missus!” Effie rumbled, and heaved herself to her lumpy feet. “Righto, laddie! What d’you want us to do with the bodgie??”

Relief washed through Charlie now that everyone was willing to help with his crazy scheme, even though they really didn’t have much idea as to what he had in mind.

“Simple, really,” he said with increasing confidence. “Just grab Eliot when I tell you and get him the hell out of the way. I can’t have him getting a bashing if Gertie throws a wobbly and thrashes about. And,” he added, “I want him to get a bit … well … narky.”

He saw the dubious glances. Eliot Spencer in a narky mood, wounded or not, would not be easy to handle.

Soapy frowned but agreed, his lugubrious face looking even more hang-dog than usual.

“Righto,” he breathed. “Narky. No worries.”

Charlie hefted the Webley and headed for the door, but hesitated for a moment.

“I’ll be on the veranda, keeping an eye out. Eliot won’t think anything of it. He’s too wrapped up in taking care of Gertie right now, so when it’s time I’ll come get you. Just follow my lead.”

And without waiting for an answer, he headed outside and settled himself in one of the comfortable old chairs on the veranda, tucking the Webley out of sight. Now all he had to do was watch, wait, and ready himself for making Eliot Spencer very angry indeed.

* * *

Gertie was quietly mumbling to Eliot, telling him soft, squeaky stories that she was sure Eliot understood, especially as he let her rest her enormous head on his lap. He didn’t seem to mind how heavy it was. In fact he cradled her head in one arm while he rubbed between her ears with the other, and Gertie closed her eyes, the squeaks and burbles becoming even quieter.

“Feelin’ sorry for yourself, huh,” he murmured and Gertie’s squeaks multiplied until they almost became a warble. “I wish you’d get up, you dumbass,” he continued, and Gertie let out a soft chomp. Eliot didn’t even flinch when drool dribbled down his pants leg. “If wishes were camels,” he whispered, and tugged gently at Gertie’s lower lip, an action Gertie knew was a gesture of affection. She sighed and let out a deep rumble in her chest, a camel version of a purr, and Eliot‘s grief-stricken features softened into a smile. “I know, darlin’ … I know.”

Thunder crashed less than a mile away accompanied by the silvered streak of lightning, and the humidity was cloying now, Eliot unable to control a cough as the damp, stickily warm air made its way into his lungs.

Gertie surprised him by raising her head and letting out a weak bawl. She had always been frightened of thunder and lightning, but until now had not reacted to the oncoming storm, although the rain which usually accompanied it didn’t appear to be imminent. There were, however, roiling black clouds gathering ominously in the distance. She nudged Eliot’s chest as the lightning limned her in quicksilver, her impossibly long eyelashes shadowing her dark eyes, the blind one limpid and opaque in the light.

“Easy now, sweetheart,” Eliot soothed, “it’ll be fine, I promise.” But as he studied the glowering amorphous mass sending dark, threatening shadows over the far hillsides he knew that rain would reach Wapanjara sooner rather than later. He eased Gertie’s head down on the arm of the recliner and managed to wrangle his battered body to its feet. He turned to see a figure on the veranda. “CHARLIE!” he yelled, “Hey, Charlie! We’ll need a tarp if you’ve got one handy!”

The figure stood up, and Eliot heard Charlie’s reply over another rumble of thunder. Gertie gurgled nervously not only because of the encroaching noise but because of the lack of Eliot’s touch which always kept her grounded.

“Be with you in a sec!” Charlie yelled back, and Eliot, worried about Gertie becoming restless and hurting herself, eased back down onto his recliner. As he sat he spotted a blurry white lump hiding between the house struts. Buster gazed back, head on his paws, brows beetling and his black eyes fixed on Eliot and Gertie.

Eliot knew the little dog sensed Gertie’s diminishing strength, and he felt sad for the pup. He had had a difficult beginning to his life, and now a new-found friend was being taken from him. Still, there was nothing he could do about it, and Buster would have to adjust. Eliot didn’t want to think about having to face life without Gertie. Oh, he knew he would probably outlive her if no-one took his life in the meantime, but he had hoped she would be with him for years yet. He owed her his existence several times over.

Gertie squeaked and shifted her big, bony head back onto Eliot’s lap. If the situation hadn’t become so dire, Eliot thought, he would have chuckled at how pathetic she was. Gertie was very good at being pathetic, especially when she wanted something, especially treats.

She clopped her jaws together and pursed her lips, and her long tongue peeked out and whiffled at Eliot’s jacket sleeve. She was still able to give camel-kisses, and Eliot couldn’t stop a hitch in his chest as she mumbled at his fingers. He gently tickled her ears and Gertie squeaked.

“ _Dammit_ , Gertie, you idiot, why don’t you just friggin’ _stand up??_ ” he said under his breath, knowing that now she would do no such thing. She had made up her mind that she couldn’t get onto her feet, and that was that.

But even as the lightning and ominous, crashing thunder grew closer Eliot became aware of others, people behind him, gathering about him as Gertie flinched at the next earth-shaking crack of thunder. She gave a shallow, breathy bawl and Eliot shushed her, rubbing her nose to comfort the big dromedary.

A hand fell onto his shoulder and he looked up to see Soapy gazing down at him, the pastoralist’s dark eyes oddly fathomless. There was a strange steadiness in the man’s gaze and Eliot frowned.

“Hey, Soapy ….” He began, but he suddenly realised Alice, Effie and Jo were on his left side, ranged behind him. “ … what’s going on?”

Charlie appeared, and the young aborigine crouched down beside Gertie, reaching out his left hand to tug her ear affectionately. Gertie started, as Charlie was on her blind side and she hadn’t realised he was there.

Eliot realised something was going on but he wasn’t too sure what it was, and his brows drew down in a puzzled scowl, frown lines appearing between them.

“Charlie? What –“

Charlie reached behind him and pulled the Webley from his belt. He nodded.

“NO!” Eliot yelled and tried to lunge for the revolver, but he felt strong hands grasp him and pull him physically from the recliner, dragging him from the seat onto the ground and back, back out of Charlie’s way.

He struggled with every ounce of his being but his wounded, treacherous body wouldn’t respond to his demands and he let out a wrenching roar of anger and grief. Hands held him tight and he felt Alice drop down behind him and wrap her arms around his chest, holding him as firmly as she could without hurting him.

“Easy, you idiot!” she hissed in his ear, trying to calm him, but Eliot wasn’t listening. He saw Gertie swing her head around to see what was happening to her best friend, and she honked in alarm even as the thunder rumbled around her. She suddenly raised herself onto her fore-knees and tried to shuffle towards Eliot even as he was pulled further away from her by Soapy and Alice, Jo and Effie hanging onto his arms and doing their best to stop him from fighting their restraining hold on his weakened frame.

“DAMMIT!” he yelled, and he managed to free his good arm from Jo’s grasp, but she clamped her strong hands on his forearm and Effie shifted her grip to join her, and Eliot felt his reserves of strength wane. But struggle he did. He tried to get his feet under him but failed miserably, and his wounded leg gave way and dumped him firmly on the ground.

But still he fought, teeth bared and eyes glittering with anger.

“ _Let. Me. GO!!_ ” He growled, and Gertie, hearing the pain and desperation in his voice, tried to shuffle around to face him. She threw up her head and let out a roar, spittle flying, and she did her best to get her hind legs under control. But she slipped and landed awkwardly, one leg tucked under her while the other scrabbled to find a footing.

Charlie moved quickly, staying on her blind side and he felt a small flare of hope deep, deep in his chest. Where Gertie was finding the strength he didn’t know, but she was trying her best to shift her big frame, which he had never expected.

“ _Back!!_ ” he shouted, gesturing at Eliot, “ _take him further back!!_ ”

Jo grimaced, but she knew now what Charlie was doing, and played along.

“C’mon, Eliot!! You can’t stay here! Gertie needs –“

“Gertie needs _me!_ ” Eliot answered with fury and began his struggles anew. He cursed and fought and did his best to get back to his girl, but it was no use. He was held tight, and he couldn’t shake his friends free so that he could stop Charlie from whatever he was doing. He had promised that Gertie would have until the following morning, and he couldn’t bear seeing her struggle so hard and so fruitlessly. She had the right, he knew, to a few more hours of peace and love, but Charlie, for some reason, appeared to want to end her life _right now_.

“Charlie, you _bastard!!_ Leave her alone!!” he roared, and Jo could feel him ball his fist uselessly, “ _Not yet, Charlie!! DAMMIT!!_ ”

But Charlie didn’t seem to be listening. He was staring at the sky for some reason, head raised and the Webley hanging loose by his side. Gertie managed to right herself and turned towards Eliot once again, and this time she was _angry_. She _gurked_ and bawled, honked and gurgled, and then she bared her teeth, pulling her prehensile lips back over her gums.

She shuffled and rumbled and hoisted her backside into the air a little, and she seemed determined to shuffle on her knees towards Eliot, but Charlie wasn’t going to allow it as he grasped her _bosal_ with his free hand.

Gertie trumpeted her annoyance, but a crashing roll of thunder made her jump and she honked with fear, flailing her head and trying to free herself from Charlie’s firm grip. The flash of lightning which followed almost immediately sent Gertie into a flat panic.

“ _Go, girl!!_ ” Charlie yelled. “ _Go get Eliot!!_ ” and crouching down beside the frightened camel he waited for the next fork of lightning which arrived just seconds later. Charlie lifted the Webley, pointed it at the sky and let off five explosive shots in quick succession just a couple of feet away from Gertie’s blind side.

The sound was deafening.

Gertie suddenly lurched, let out a series of terrified roars and frantically reached out for Eliot.

She spotted him in moments and saw how he was struggling to free himself from four of the people he loved most in the world, and she somehow got her front feet under her. She was fearful, angry and confused, and without thinking she put her weight on her bad leg and tried to stand. But she was trying to get up front-end-foremost, which was not the way camels got to their feet, and she discovered she was stuck.

For some reason she didn’t seem able to make her back legs work properly, so Charlie did the unthinkable. He gave Gertie a hefty wallop on her hairy rump.

“ _Go on!!_ ” He bellowed, “ _Get up, you useless bloody idiot!!_ ” and Gertie, horrified at being hit, heaved herself forward.

Charlie’s heart was in his mouth. Gertie was moving. She was _moving_ , the combination of fear for Eliot, fear of the horrid, earth-shaking thunder and fear of the inexplicable deafening noise on her blind side was doing the trick. But she still struggled to get her weakened rear end to function properly. The days of inactivity and the wounds on her stifles had taken a toll on her constitution, and Charlie stumbled backwards, trying to stay out of her way in case she fell.

But he hadn’t factored Buster McPhee into the equation.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a small, hairy body fly past, and with an indignant, chomping bark, Buster latched firmly onto Gertie’s chewed tail and held on as tightly as he could.

Gertie let out a horrified honk of sheer terror, sorted out her legs and stood up.

“ _YES!!”_ Charlie yelled, and punched a fist in the air.

The huge camel staggered to her feet and stood there, weaving unsteadily on three legs, and snaked her head around to try and pry the hairy little nuisance from her chewed tail, but Buster let go, dropped to the ground and backed off, barking wildly as another ripple of thunder shook the heavens.

Gertie, frightened yet angry beyond belief, didn’t know what to do. She searched for Eliot, but was surprised to see that he was sitting on the ground, wide-eyed and still, gently held by his family. He didn’t seem to be upset anymore. In fact he appeared to be utterly stunned. So, Gertie reasoned, apparently he didn’t need saving, so she could turn her attention to other things.

The first drops of rain spattered on the red dust as Gertie managed to turn around and face her tormentor.

Buster dashed forward, nipped her good ankle, pulled out a tuft of hair and scooted out of the way, spitting the soft fluff out of his mouth so that he could continue to taunt the dromedary.

Gertie was incensed. Her head dropped and she made a sudden, stumbling charge at the pup, jaws agape and ready to tear the upstart limb from limb, and Charlie had to hurriedly run sideways to get out of her line of fire.

Buster ran for his life.

Gertie, her one aim being to mash the little terror to a pulp, followed him unsteadily as he headed for safety beneath the veranda.

Eliot didn’t quite know what to make of the situation. His broken heart was thudding in his chest and what had moments before been a tragedy full of heartbreak had turned, in the space of less than a minute, into a world of hope. He watched as Gertie, taunted beyond belief, struggled to her feet. He saw her almost fall, but Buster, little fearless Buster, had taken his life in his paws and forced Gertie ever upwards until she was standing in the yard as the heavens broke above them. He saw Gertie limp painfully after Buster, bawling and growling and threatening every atom of Buster’s small, stocky body, and as she limped he saw her begin to put weight on her bad leg.

Anxiety about the storm crashing overhead and anger at a feisty pup had overcome her reluctance to stand up and face the pain in her wounded limb.

“Well, sonofa _bitch!_ ” Eliot whispered under his breath as the hands holding him fell away.

Alice sank down beside him, her eyes alight with wonder.

“He did it!” she gasped, and then leaned forward to give Eliot a smacking kiss on his cheek. “My Charlie did it!!”

Eliot held out his good hand to Soapy, who stood beside him and watched as Gertie began to painfully hunt up and down the length of the veranda, poking her head through the steel struts as she searched for the elusive terrier.

“Help me up, will ya?” he asked, and Soapy caught the American’s hand and hauled him to his feet.

With Jo supporting him on his other side, Eliot saw Gertie gain more and more confidence, using her bad leg despite it still being obviously painful, but she had now discovered that standing up wasn’t as bad as she thought it would be.

“Well now, will you look at that!” Effie rasped as she crossed her arms and studied Gertie. “The stupid big bugger _can_ walk!”

Gertie let out a guttural harrumph of irritation as Buster hovered just out of reach beneath the house, and Alice laughed, pure joy written all over her face.

Charlie made his way over to stand by his wife, and offered the Webley to Soapy, butt first.

“Thanks, Soapy. Thanks for not asking questions,” he said wryly, a small smile on his face as Alice launched herself at him and hugged the young man as hard as she could.

Eliot stared at Gertie for a few more moments, reassuring himself that she wasn’t about to collapse, and then he turned a stony gaze on Charlie Jakkamarra.

“You crazy asshole!” he swore, and Charlie shrugged.

“Had to do something, _papparti_. The silly bint wouldn’t get on her bloody feet, and I really, _really_ didn’t want to have to shoot her.”

Eliot stared at the man he regarded as the brother he never had. Then a powerful hand shot out and grabbed Charlie’s shirt.

For a long, long moment Charlie thought Eliot was going to punch him – on purpose, this time – but to his utter surprise he was suddenly pulled into Eliot’s arms and the Oklahoman hugged Charlie so hard the aborigine thought his ribs would break. Eliot buried his face into Charlie’s shoulder and took a deep steadying breath.

“Thank you, Charlie Jakkamarra of the _Warumungu_ ,” came the muffled words, and Charlie’s arms held his brother tight in return.

“You’re welcome, Eliot Spencer of the _Aniwaya_ ,” he replied, just relieved beyond measure that his plan had worked.

The rain began to fall in earnest, and Effie cursed happily as she watched Gertie gimp around the edge of the house, ignoring the pain in her leg and doing her best to find Buster and end his misbegotten life.

“Why don’t you get that big hairy bugger somewhere dry, hey?” she grouched, and Jo agreed.

“And we need to get this fool inside out of the rain too,” the latter added and tugged at Eliot’s sleeve. “C’mon, boy. Charlie and Alice can take care of –“

Eliot loosened his grip on Charlie and shook his head.

“Nope. I’m gonna take my girl up to the barn and get her settled inside,” he said, blue eyes more alive now, the dullness and pain fading into nothing. “Maybe in the foalin’ box?”

“She’ll be fine in there, to be sure,” Soapy agreed, “but you’re going to have a helluva job getting her away from Buster. Poor little blighter,” he added with some sympathy.

“I’ll get her,” Eliot insisted, “she’ll follow me,” and pursing his lips he let out a piercing whistle.

Gertie paused in her hunt for Buster, and her ears pricked. Raising her head, she shook as another rumble of thunder tore through the sky, but she bore it and turned, making her painful way through the rain across the yard to Eliot. Each step hurt but she bore it, and she discovered that the more she used the leg the better it felt.

Eliot met her half-way.

His world became one of licks and burbles and hair-whiffles, and Gertie investigated him carefully, nosing at his injured shoulder and leg. Gently battling his way through the attention, he leaned over and ran a careful hand over her damaged fetlock, checking for heat or bleeding. Charlie joined him, and the two men were relieved to find no further damage to Gertie’s joint and the swelling had not worsened. Gertie appeared to be on the mend.

It took Eliot half an hour to walk Gertie to the barn. He told himself that he was just taking his time for Gertie’s sake, so that she didn’t strain her damaged leg. But in reality it was because he was exhausted.

The two of them limped carefully through the rain, Gertie happy to be beside her friend because the hated rain upset her. In return Eliot held her _bosal_ , pretending to lead her up the slight incline towards the barn, but he hung on as well as he could because his leg hurt like hell and his shoulder was one big mass of aching stiffness.

Alice and Charlie went ahead and laid down a deep, comfortable bed of straw and placed bales around the edge of the big, roomy box so that Gertie wouldn’t get stuck and jammed against the corner when – _if_ \- she lay down.

By the time Gertie and Eliot gimped into the barn, there was a big bucket of warm bran and treats for Gertie, and Effie had arrived with a flask of hot tea and some sandwiches for Eliot.

The little cook sat with both of them as they ate, watching the man as he gingerly relaxed on a bale of straw sipping the hot, milky tea and munching on a delicious pan-fried turkey sandwich. He was weary, it was obvious, and the stress of worrying about Gertie had taken its toll. He looked gaunt now, and she saw how he didn’t take his eyes off Gertie as she worked her way through the bucket of feed.

Gertie stood resting her bad foot on its toe-tip, but Effie knew that the damaged joint, weak as it was, would strengthen with use. The huge animal shook a little as she ate. Like Eliot, she was exhausted and weak, but she gamely whiffled the last of the food around the interior of the bucket, vacuuming up every last morsel. Her appetite had returned with a vengeance, it seemed, now she found that she could stand.

 _Bloody chancer_ , Effie thought. _Stubborn as buggery_. But she couldn’t stop a raspy sigh as she watched Eliot stretch out his bad leg to ease the pain and Gertie shifted her sore leg a little. The two of them were nothing but bloody nuisances, Effie was sure.

Charlie wangled the bucket away from Gertie’s nose and patted the animal on her shoulder.

“Well now,” he murmured, “feel better?”

Gertie squeaked quietly and gave Charlie a furtive, bran-sticky camel-kiss, leaving grainy smears on his face and the man laughed easily. All, it seemed, was forgiven.

“You need to rest, Eliot,” he said as he scratched Gertie’s chin. “Why don’t you head back to the house and get some sleep?”

“Nope. Not just yet. I’ll stay here for a while … keep Gertie company,” the injured hitter replied. “Don’t worry. I just want to make sure she’s doin’ better. I’ll be fine just here,” he added, patting the bale.

Effie got to her lumpy feet with a grunt.

“I’ve dinner to cook in a bit, so I’ll get going,” and leaning over, she gave Eliot a gentle clip on the ear. “Don’t you bloomin’ scare me like that again.” And then she poked Gertie in the neck. “And you, you stupid drongo,” she finger-flicked Gertie between her eyes, which made the beast blink, “stop being such a nerk!”

Gertie gazed adoringly at the rotund little cook and then began to investigate the pockets of her flowery apron. She gave out a series of expectant gurgles, and Effie fished about in one of the pockets and brought out an Anzac biscuit.

“Don’t tell this dopy jumbuck,” she waggled a finger at Eliot, “but this was meant for him.”

“Hey!” Eliot groused, but Gertie was too quick. She delicately took the biscuit from Effie and munched it with great decorum, sighing happily.

Effie grunted and shrugged as she heard a soft rustling beside her. Looking down, she saw a rather soggy white pup rolling in the deep straw, doing his best to get rid of the water in his wiry coat. Buster wriggled and grumbled and lay on his back, kicking his legs in the air, and then he sneezed, scratched his ear with a waving hind paw and stood up.

Gertie finished her biscuit and caught sight of the pup. She let out a rambling bawl, but Eliot tapped her nose.

“He saved your life, you dumb bastard!” he soothed, “you owe him!”

Gertie’s rumbles subsided and she licked her lips in a search for crumbs. Buster puttered over to the enormous camel and sniffed at her bad leg while Gertie gave up on the crumbs and mumbled at his tail. She very carefully tweaked it with her long, yellow teeth.

Buster let out a tiny yelp and sat down as quickly as he could.

Gertie harrumphed smugly. But she was very, very tired and still shaky after the trauma of the afternoon, so she allowed Buster to pull his tail out of her grasp, and the dog snuggled down between Gertie’s knees, did his three-turn rotation and resting his head on her leg, promptly fell asleep.

Effie, amused, left the three of them to settle down, and pulling out her old RAAF slouch hat she jammed it on her head and gathered her coat around her.

Eliot painfully but carefully slid off the bale and sat down in the deep straw beside Gertie, who rested her head on his lap. Within a minute, all three of them, human, camel and dog, were sound asleep.

“Boofheads! The lot of ‘em! More trouble than they’re bleedin’ worth!” Effie grumbled with great affection, and hobbling out of the barn, she trudged her way back through the pouring rain to her kitchen.

 

To be continued …

* * *

 _Papparti_ – _Warumungu_ kinship word for ‘older brother’ or ‘big brother’.  
_Kukkaji – Warumungu_ kinship word for ‘baby brother’ or ‘little brother.’  
_Kartungunyu_ – _Warumungu_ kinship word for 'wife'.


	12. Look to the Light of Happier Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot comes to a decision, and much cooking is done.
> 
> Many thanks for all of the kind words and kudos for this silly little tale of camels and hitters. They are very much appreciated!
> 
> Watch out for the next story in 'The Wapanjara Chronicles' - 'The Yobbo'.

* * *

Jo sat on the veranda in the late afternoon, a couple of days after Gertie got to her feet, and watched the two unlikely friends head slowly across the yard to the track which meandered its way among the trees, the lowering sun sending fingered shadows through the branches of the old almond stand.

Man and camel were lame still, both moving slowly and with some care. Gertie’s fetlock was strapped up with an incongruously bright pink crepe bandage to help support the injured joint. Eliot moved gingerly, not needing Soapy’s walking stick anymore, but he held himself together with stiff dignity, doing his best not to jar his shoulder or put too much strain on his wounded leg.

“They’re doing a lot better, old girl,” Soapy murmured, sitting beside his wife as she poured him tea.

“I suppose …” Jo pondered as she handed her husband his tea and returned to her latest crossword. “I think now Gertie’s on the mend we might find out what’s bothering the lad. It’s to do with that team of his, I’m sure.”

Soapy lifted a white chocolate blondie, Effie’s latest baking experiment. Taking a bite, he hummed happily at the richness of the gooey, macadamia-laced square. His lugubrious face lit up with pleasure. Soapy Munro was very, very fond of anything sweet.

“Eliot’s recipe,” Jo said, “He supervised while Effie baked.” She smiled at Soapy’s obvious delight. “It’s the first time he’s had any inclination to cook, so I think he’s feeling better.”

Soapy saw Eliot and Gertie disappear into the trees. A small white pup suddenly appeared at a run and followed them along the track.

“Bloody daft dog,” Soapy mumbled to himself, and took another bite of the blondie. “Is this peanut butter on the top??”

But Jo wasn’t listening as she sipped her own cup of tea, her brow drawn down as she considered the American whom they both loved dearly.

“He’ll be going back to Portland soon, love. I know it,” she said with more than a hint of sorrow in her voice.

Soapy finished his blondie and his eyebrows rose a little in surprise.

“What for? I sort of thought he was here to stay!”

“No … no, he has to go back. But he has a decision to make, and I don’t know what that decision is. What it’s all about.” Jo let out a deep sigh reamed with sadness. “I just wish -“

“ – he didn’t do what he does, my Jo, I know,” Soapy finished the sentence for his wife as she leaned back in her chair, frustration on her lean face.

“He’s got his undies in an uproar about something, that’s for sure,” she continued and refilled her teacup. “I mean … he said that _he_ left _them_ , not the other way around. Why would the idiot do that with two bullet holes in him, Soapy?? Hey?? Why do something so bloody stupid – “ she stopped, knowing that she needed to control her emotions because it wouldn’t do either of them any good if she became upset. “Oh, what’s the _use?_ He’ll be gone soon. I suppose he’ll tell us what’s going on in that thick skull of his before he goes.”

Soapy nodded soberly and reached out to lace his fingers in Jo’s.

“No doubt he will. But I’ll tell you something, wife of mine – whatever it is, he needed to come home to us. To his family. It meant more to him than life itself, and I for one am glad he feels that way. He belongs here, and he knows it.”

Jo squeezed Soapy’s hand, grateful for his love and understanding.

“He does, doesn’t he? Belongs here, at Wapanjara.”

Soapy grinned and snaffled another blondie.

“It’s in his blood, Jo. This is where his heart lies. It’s been part of him since he came out of that bloody nasty fever he had when we first found him.”

Jo leaned her head on Soapy’s shoulder.

“I s’pose. He’s happy here, Soapy. I wish he’d stay.”

She felt Soapy heave a deep sigh and nuzzled her cap of silver-auburn curls.

“Maybe one day, old girl. Maybe one day.”

And Jo knew she had to be content with that.

* * *

Eliot settled his still-healing body on the old tree stump near the almond stand and waited a long moment for the ache of his wounds to settle. This was the worst part of dealing with the injuries he would accrue once in a while as he did his job of protecting his team. Oh, the initial stress of wounds and broken bones was hard to tackle sometimes, and his healing times were becoming more drawn out as he grew older. He still healed well and usually without too much hassle, but he hated this part of it … the bit where his wounds were stiff and itchy and were healed enough to let him move but didn’t allow him to do very much. He wanted to push himself, to make his body do as it was told and toughen up … to get back to being pure muscle and bone and his usual deadly self.

He was distracted from his musings as Gertie very carefully sat down beside him and let loose a ripping, stench-ridden fart.

“ _JEEZ!_ ” Eliot coughed and flapped a hand in Gertie’s direction in the futile attempt to disperse the stink. Gertie thought he wanted to give her a fuss and gazed adoringly into Eliot’s eyes. So she squeaked with delight and opened her mouth to give her best friend a camel-kiss. Unfortunately she burped loudly instead, spattering Eliot with saliva.

It took him long minutes to wipe off the drool, swearing roundly and succinctly at Gertie who watched him with a mixture of confusion and concern, and then he had to put up with her investigation of his pockets for carrots.

Buster by this time had caught up with them and was rootling about under a nearby acacia looking for a lizard to chase. He began to enthusiastically dig a hole and showered Eliot with dirt.

Eliot decided hanging out with Gertie and Buster was even more irritating than dealing with Parker after a chocolate binge.

 _Parker_.

The last time he has seen Parker was when she and Hardison had very carefully hoisted him, bleeding wounds and all, into Mike Vance’s government-issue SUV. Vance hadn’t missed the keys until it was too late, but Parker knew Eliot needed a vehicle roomy enough for her to maneuver the injured hitter into the back seat, and the SUV was just the ticket. Parker had settled beside him as Hardison drove them out of town to a small hotel where they knew Eliot could rest and Parker could treat his wounds.

It had been a painful hour or so, and Eliot had gritted his teeth every inch of the way, Hardison alternately apologizing for every tiny bump in the road surface and prattling on about how Eliot should go straight to a hospital.

Parker said nothing but had curled up beside Eliot and watched him like a hawk, silently thrumming with tension.

“Stay put, Eliot! You promise me!” she had scolded, fear and worry in her blue eyes as she and Hardison had left him in the SUV to go and organise renting an unobtrusive chalet at the rear of the hotel.

By the time they had returned, Eliot was gone.

Guilt tickled the back of Eliot’s mind but he tamped it down firmly. He knew what he was doing. Even as he sat next to Mike Vance later that day in the Colonel’s ridiculous little pool car, listening to the man grouching and complaining about Parker stealing his SUV, Eliot, hurt and feeling nauseous, had thought about only one thing – going home to Wapanjara, to the people who would take care of him and let him mull over the problem which had been percolating in his mind for some time.

He reached out and pulled Gertie’s bottom lip, teasing her. Gertie hummed happily.

“They’re gonna give me hell when I get back,” he said, and the camel mumbled at Eliot’s fingers. “Now all I have to do is decide whether to stay there or not.”

Gertie burped up her cud and settled down to listen.

So Eliot pondered and cogitated and argued with Gertie, who listened carefully. He ran through endless scenarios and gauged reactions, and as the sun dipped lower and lower and the galahs swept in for their evening drink from the billabong in the great South paddock, Eliot finally came to a decision.

Getting carefully to his feet, he began to walk back to the homestead. Gertie heaved her bulky body upright and limped after him, and finally Buster gave up on finding a lizard to harass and brought up the rear as the magpies fluted their haunting cries in the encroaching gloom.

* * *

It was obvious that Effie was on a mission to fatten Eliot up, because dinner that night was one of his favourites – a large brisket, marinated and doused in Effie’s secret rub before being placed in her old cooking range for hours on end until it was melt-in-the mouth.

It was afterwards, with everyone stuffed with food until it was almost impossible to move, when Eliot finally told them what he had been thinking about for quite a while.

He was slouching in his recliner on the veranda, gazing out into the darkness as he sipped on a beer. It was a decision he knew he had had to make, and although it tugged at his love for these people and the home he treasured, he had other responsibilities.

“I, ah …” he began, and made a soft sound in his throat as though clearing it. “I have to head back to Portland soon.”

There. He had said it.

Effie muttered something rude under her breath as Charlie helped her clear the table, but Alice, sprawled on the swing seat, sat up with a start.

“Are you bloody daft?? You’re only just back on your feet, you nerk, and anyway, what the hell’s left for you back there? Why not stay? At least you’re wanted here, brother,” she added as she saw Eliot’s frown.

“Hang on, Alice,” Charlie said softly as he balanced plates on a tray, “let Eliot finish. There’s more to it than that.”

Alice shifted from the swing seat and flung her slender frame into the chair next to Eliot. She hitched a questioning eyebrow and poked Eliot hard in the arm, which made him curse.

“Dammit, Alice! Give me a break, will ya?” he groused, and rubbed the poked muscle. Alice Jakkamarra was a worse finger-poker than Parker. But Alice was having none of Eliot’s grumbling and stared at him expectantly. “Look …” he continued, trying to keep his voice conciliatory, “… I have people there I have to think about.”

“Why? They don’t seem to care much about you!” Alice snapped. “I know they didn’t abandon you, _papparti_ , but they haven’t come after you, now have they?”

Soapy laid out coffee cups and began to pour, but he had to set Alice straight before Eliot could speak.

“They didn’t come after Eliot because they don’t know we exist,” he interjected as he poured milk into coffee and handed the cup to Jo, who smiled her thanks.

“ _What?_ ” Alice was astounded. “Why?”

“To keep you all safe,” Eliot said and grasped Alice’s hand, gently squeezing her fingers to prevent more poking. “Not that they’d tell anyone, but it’s a chink in my armour, sweetheart,” he added. “It’d mean Wapanjara and all of you would be within our circle, and we’ve had our security breached before. I couldn’t take the risk. For your safety and theirs.”

Alice thought about it for a moment or two and then nodded reluctantly.

“Okay, I can understand that. But why the hell did you come home with bullet holes in you, Eliot? Hey? You could have died, you idiot!” Her black eyes sparked with indignation.

Eliot paused and then spoke, the warmth of the love he had for them all evident in every word.

“I came home … I came home because … oh _hell_ ,” he rasped and straightened in his seat. “I came home because you people …” he held a hand out to Jo and she grasped his fingers tight. “Because I had to think about what to do next. You fixed me up, you gave me space to think and now I know what I have to do.” Lifting Jo’s hand to his lips he kissed the soft skin on the back. “Thanks, Jo. Thanks for all the ways you love me back to life. For patchin’ me up – _again_ – an’ makin’ sure I can come to the right decision about the team.”

He looked around at the pairs of eyes watching him closely and waiting in silence.

“Nate an’ Sophie … I think they’re gonna leave,” he said, and the relief in voicing his concerns was almost overwhelming. Bottling up all of this worry had been gnawing at him, but now he thought he could move forward.

“Leave?” Jo asked, “for goodness sake, why?”

Eliot shrugged, wincing as it made the healing wound in his shoulder twinge.

“They’ve got this … this … _thing_ … going, an’ I think they’re going to leave an’ go their own way. Nate … he’s been workin’ with Parker, showing her how he thinks an’ …” he let out a huffing breath, “anyway, I think they’ll maybe retire. Not just yet, but … I guess it’ll be soon.” He sighed. “I don’t think he knows I’ve noticed, but hell, sometimes Nate’s easy to read. He’s not even really trying to hide it.”

“And you’ve been wondering what to do about Hardison and Parker,” Jo murmured as the reason for Eliot’s lengthy pondering suddenly became clear.

Eliot nodded.

“Yeah. Hardison and Parker. What do I do about those two dumbasses.” His sigh was full of affection. “Do we keep doin’ what we’re doin’ without Nate an’ Sophie? And if we do, how will it work? How do I keep ‘em safe, because those two … I mean, they’re better than they were, but still … but I thought about the last job we did. The bomb thing.”

“You did it without Nate and Sophie,” Soapy stated, “and you did a good job.” He quirked a grin. “Even though you got shot. _Twice_.”

Eliot had the good grace to look embarrassed even as he agreed.

“Yeah, well, I had to distract that bastard somehow,” he said, and remembered the gunshot as Udall fired at Eliot from almost point-blank range and he felt again the impact of the bullet as it ploughed through his shoulder. He has stood it and hardly moved, and the surprise on Udall’s face had amused him even as the pain exploded through his body.

He hadn’t even felt the second shot as it slammed into his left leg, charging at Udall so that Parker could deal with the bomb containing the Spanish ‘Flu virus. It had been worth it, he thought, as Hardison and Parker – _his team_ – had handled the threat.

“So … you were wondering whether to stay with them or come home forever, weren’t you?” Alice asked.

“Yeah … yeah, I was,” Eliot admitted and finished his beer. “This is my home. This is where you people … my _family_ … live and where I’m happy. But I realised I had another family to keep safe, because they couldn’t do it themselves. If we as a team are going to keep doin’ what we do … then I have to keep ‘em alive, Alice, because if they try and go it alone they’re going to die. An’ I can’t let that happen. Not on my watch.”

And his face was suddenly fierce and strong and the need to protect those he held dear would not release him, and he was glad of it.

Jo’s understanding smile nearly broke his steadfast heart. He knew how much she wanted him to stay here at Wapanjara. He also knew how much _he_ wanted to stay. But that was somewhere in his future. Not now. Not when he had people to keep safe and to help those in need.

“When’re you going then, you young jumbuck?”

Effie’s muddy eyes were sombre even as she settled down in her chair on the other side of Eliot, a cup of tea in hand, and Eliot could hear the sadness in her voice. But he knew she understood. She always did.

“Soon, Eff. I got transport to organise, but I think I need to get back to Portland sooner rather than later before those two idiots try to do a job on their own and get themselves in trouble.”

Alice leaned forward and touched Eliot’s arm, gently this time, with no poking fingers digging into tender muscle.

“But Eliot, you don’t have to –“

“Yes, darlin’. Yes I do. It’s my job. It’s what I do.”

And Alice read the truth of his words in his shining blue eyes.

For the rest of the evening Eliot sat with these people who had saved his life and whom he loved, and the cicadas sang in the night and the dingoes howled in the far horizon, and finally Eliot Spencer was at peace.

* * *

Eliot always hated leaving Wapanjara. He had done so many times over the years, and it never got any easier.

This particular morning he awoke sore and depressed. He had had an uneasy night, dreaming of long-dead friends and of Hardison and Parker, dying in front of him in oh, _so_ many ways and no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t do a thing about it. He didn’t want to leave Wapanjara, but knew he had to keep them safe so they could continue helping people who had nobody else to whom they could turn. It was the right thing to do, and these days Eliot was all about doing what he could to turn bad things into good. It wouldn’t save him from going straight to Hell for the terrible things he had done in his life, but at least he could do something right while he walked this earth.

Breakfast was subdued but full of love, and Effie didn’t let up on the head-slaps coupled with affection as Eliot teased her unmercifully about her cooking.

Even Alice smiled at Eliot’s jibes, and laughed out loud when Effie clipped the Oklahoman around the ear for saying she hadn’t put enough jalapeños in his omelette.

“Cheeky young bugger!” she scowled and slammed more toast down in front of Eliot, who fell upon it as though he hadn’t been fed for a week. She had made the seeded loaf the American enjoyed so much. Effie … little, fierce Effie McPhee, expressed her love through her food, just as Eliot did.

He spent the morning saying goodbye to the loyal crew who had carried him into the house, careful of his wounds, and who had all sat and waited until he was out of the woods. They had looked after Gertie while she was sick, and had been the quiet, unquestioning support throughout the recovery of both man and camel.

They parted with cheery insults and three cases of beer by way of a ‘thank you’ from Eliot, who understood the ‘tinnies’ would be the only thanks they would accept graciously.

It was Gertie, though, who made the farewell so difficult.

She ambled out of her humpy, gurgling with delight when she saw Eliot enter her paddock, fastening the gate behind him. Old Moke took the carrot Eliot offered her, but Gertie ignored hers for a moment as she sniffed him all over, concentrating on his injuries as she always did.

“I’m okay darlin’, I promise,” Eliot murmured and he scratched the soft curls between her ears. “Give me a couple of weeks an’ I’ll be good as new – just like you,” he added as he saw that Charlie had left the support bandage off her still-slightly-swollen fetlock. Eliot knew that she might have a little residual puffiness in the joint for the rest of her life, but she would be hale and hearty with only a small scar to show for her near-fatal encounter with a snake.

Gertie, however, wasn’t too sure that Eliot was as well as he said he was, and she whiffled at his face with her velvet-soft lips, her gurgles turning into those ridiculous, high-pitched squeaks she gave out when she was worried about her best friend.

Eliot grinned and did his best to give the huge camel a noogie, although his shoulder was still stiff and achy. But he was healing faster now, and he was sure that within a week or two he would be back to beating the crap out of his punch bag with alacrity.

Gertie chomped happily and closed her eyes, reveling at the attention, but Eliot stopped his scratching and gently tugged Gertie’s bottom lip. Gertie’s eyes popped open and she listened intently.

“Take care of yourself, you big moron,” Eliot whispered, and Gertie chomped and flicked her ears. “Don’t you go lookin’ for trouble, do as you’re told an’ look out for Buster. He’s just a little guy but he thinks he’s invincible, so keep an eye on him for Effie, okay?”

Gertie snorted. Of course she would look after her people, and that included the little white terror which bit her tail. She flapped the tattered appendage indignantly.

Eliot chuckled and rubbed Gertie’s muzzle and she gave him her best camel-kiss, a carefully-controlled swipe of her long tongue over his cheek, leaving frothy saliva all over Eliot’s face. He sputtered and wiped off the drool, and then he gave her the carrot she knew he had brought for her.

And then he hugged her so hard he found it difficult to breathe.

“I’ll try and be back soon,” he mumbled into her neck, feeling the play of her muscles as she flapped her bottom lip at his obvious distress. “Be good.”

Walking away from Gertie as she followed him to the gate and honked, made his chest ache with the pain of it.

But the hardest part was to come, because he had to leave the people and home he loved so that he could protect another part of his family. People he cared about deeply, although they didn’t know it, and who also did not know the sacrifice he made and how much it made him die a little inside.

* * *

Effie had made him pecan pie.

Two thick, luscious wedges were carefully wrapped in waxed paper and installed in a box tied with string and handed to Eliot as he stood beside the Munro’s old ute.

Soapy and Jo were going to drive Eliot to Tennant Creek and drop him off at the airport there. He would then fly to Darwin and hitch a lift to the States via a U.S. military transport plane, once more organised by a complaining Mike Vance.

Effie scowled ferociously and gave Eliot a gentle shove in the chest. He carefully kept the smile off his face and waited.

The rotund little cook studied Eliot for a moment and the scowl became even more fearsome.

“Now you listen to me, you young bastard!!”

Eliot shrugged.

“M’listenin’.”

Effie’s muddy eyes glinted with ire.

“Don’t cheek me, you daft bludger! Now I’m warning you – don’t you bloody well come back here bleeding all over the place, because I’m ruddy tired of you making a mess of my table and the Missus having to stitch you up. _Again!_ ” she emphasised with another gentle whack to Eliot’s chest.

“Yeah, Eff … I know –“ Eliot began, rolling his eyes like a teenager, which didn’t go down too well with Effie, who growled.

“Don’t you ‘Yeah, Eff’ me, you dozy mongrel!! You’re still stuffed and you’d be better stayin’ on for a couple of weeks until you look a bit less like roadkill, but no! You have to bugger off back to bleedin’ Portland, dontcha??” She gazed up at Eliot and he swore he saw tears in her eyes.

“They need me, Eff. Without me they’re dead meat, so … yeah, I have to bugger off back to Portland.” Eliot’s smile softened Effie McPhee’s old, kind heart, and she sniffed.

“Mebbee … mebbee one day you’ll bring ‘em here, so I can have a look at the beggars, hey? See if they’re worth the worry.”

That made Eliot chuckle.

“Hardison an’ Parker? Man, they’d drive you into an early grave.”

Effie snorted.

“Well if I can deal with you, you chancer, then they’d be a bloomin’ doddle, I betcha!” She patted Eliot on the arm. “All of ‘em, Yank. One day, bring all of ‘em.”

And even as Eliot gathered Effie’s rotund frame into his arms for a hug and gave the protesting cook a smacking kiss on the forehead, he wondered if there would even _be_ a team to bring home to Wapanjara one day.

As he let the weepy old woman go, Eliot suddenly found her being replaced by a wriggling Alice Jakkamarra, who wrapped herself around his stocky frame and held him tight. His shoulder protested but he didn’t care, and as he pulled blonde-dark curls from his face he found himself looking at a grinning Charlie, who stuck out a hand. Freeing his own hand from Alice’s clutches, Eliot shook it.

“I owe you a punch, Eliot Spencer of the _Aniwaya_ ,” the young aborigine said, and Eliot’s blue eyes crinkled with humour.

“You can live in hope, Charlie Jakkamarra of the _Warumungu_ ,” he replied, but his demeanor became serious. “Thanks, Charlie. Thanks for savin’ my girl. An’ both of you, thanks for lookin’ out for me. I know I’m a pain in the ass, but … anyway … just … _thanks_.”

He felt a touch on his shoulder, and Jo was there, her lean, beautiful face full of sadness.

“It’s time, boy. We have to go.”

Alice began to weep silently as Eliot let her slide from his arms, but just as he began to open the passenger door of the Munros’ old ute, she caught his elbow and stood on tiptoe to whisper something in his ear. Whatever she said, it made Eliot break into a sweet, wide grin. He tipped up her head with a forefinger under her chin and gave her cheek the gentlest kiss he could muster.

“I’ll be home as soon as I can,” he murmured, and then he was gone, Soapy driving the ute through the homestead gateway shadowed by the great, ancient gum tree, and up, up the incline to the stringybark stand and beyond, travelling to the far world beyond Wapanjara that Alice would never see.

* * *

**Portland, Oregon, U.S.A**

Alec Hardison trudged unhappily up the stairs from the brewpub, Parker trailing behind him, a scowl on her elfin face.

“I can’t take much more of this, babe,” he muttered as he sensed Parker’s dejection. “Nate … he thinks we can just take on clients without Eliot. It … it’s just …” unable to find the words, he shrugged helplessly.

“It’s not right, Alec!” Parker was almost whiny, something she did when she was out of sorts, when the world was confusing and did things she didn’t understand. Right now, her world was in turmoil because a part of it was missing. “Where’s Eliot? Why hasn’t he come home??”

Hardison shook his head. Nate had just interviewed a couple of elderly sisters who had been evicted from the home they had lived in all their lives. Some low-life loan shark with powerful friends had conned the old ladies into taking out a loan to improve the house at terrifyingly high interest rates, and without realising it they had defaulted. Nate thought it was an easy job and they didn’t need Eliot, wherever he was.

“He’ll be back when he’s ready, Parker, you know that. He ain’t dead, I’m sure of that,” Hardison groused. He felt even more out of sorts because Nate and Sophie had headed off goodness-knows where for the evening, and left Hardison and Parker to their own devices.

Hardison had spent nearly two weeks doing everything he could to try and trace their errant hitter. They all knew Eliot had contacts who would treat his injuries and let him lie low and heal without any interference from his team.

But Hardison had also checked every dead body found State-wide and then done the same in all of New England, in case the notoriously private Spencer had returned to Boston to his contacts there. Hardison even set up an alert on his high-end software to let him know if a body answering Eliot’s description was found anywhere in the U.S. There had been nothing even remotely Eliot-centric in any hospital reports or morgues throughout America.

That didn’t mean Eliot hadn’t shuffled off his mortal coil, but in his heart Hardison knew the man he regarded as a brother was still alive. He just _knew_.

“I just wish …” Parker sniffed. The past few weeks had been hard for the team, even after Nate and Sophie had returned from their own adventures to find Hardison and Parker had saved Washington from a terrorist threat. They were aghast to find Eliot was gone, wounded as he was, but Hardison’s lack of ability to find him – dead or alive – reassured the team, more or less, that he was somewhere safe and healing.

Nevertheless, Hardison decided, he was going to rip the Oklahoman a new one because he had put them all through a passel of misery worrying about him. Although, the hacker thought, maybe he would have to find a way to immobilize the man first. One didn’t hog-tie Eliot Spencer and live to tell the tale, so he would have to have a getaway organised to someplace remote and tropical and with no easy access and –

Hardison suddenly slammed to a halt at the top of the stairs, Parker piling into the back of him because she wasn’t paying attention.

She sniffed, and then frowned, and then sniffed again.

“Is that –“

“ – pan-seared chicken breast stuffed with fresh black truffles, served with mushroom and spinach salad!” Hardison’s jaw tightened. “The sonofabitch is _back_ an’ he’s makin’ _Black Widow Chicken!!_ ” He clutched Parker’s shoulder. “ _I’m gonna friggin’ kill the bastard!!_ ”

The relieved smile on Parker’s face was pure, unadulterated sunshine.

“But not until _after_ we’ve eaten!” she crowed, and pushed forward to open the door to the offices of Leverage Inc.

* * *

It was as though Eliot had never been away.

There he was in the kitchen, a bandanna keeping his hair out of his eyes and a dish-towel thrown over one shoulder, muttering to himself as he put the finishing touches to Eliot’s Ultimate Chocolate Cake.

He looked up to see Hardison and Parker standing in the doorway, gaping at him with astonished, wide eyes. His heart ached with relief at the sight, knowing they were safe, so he did his best to draw his eyebrows down into the best Death Glare he could muster. It wouldn’t do at all if he even remotely looked happy to see them.

“What? Cat got your tongue??” he demanded tersely, and it was as though a dam broke.

Parker let out a shriek that Eliot was sure would set any dogs within five miles into an apoplectic fit, and she ran towards him, arms flailing. Eliot closed his eyes, braced himself and prepared for the onslaught.

She hit him hard, arms and legs wrapping around his tired, sore body and he couldn’t stop the grunt of pain, but Parker didn’t notice.

“You’re _back!!_ You’re not dead!! We thought you were _dead!!_ _Maybe!!”_ she added as she hung onto Eliot’s damaged frame as though he would disappear in a puff of smoke if she didn’t cling to him like a limpet.

Eliot didn’t hug her back because he had a spatula covered in chocolate _ganache_ in one hand and a bowl in the other. He did his best not to smear chocolate on Parker, but it was a struggle as his wounded shoulder began to weaken.

“Get _off_ me, Parker!” he groused happily, and managed to set the bowl down on the quartz surface of the kitchen island. She squeaked, ignored him and squeezed tighter. Eliot sighed.

Hardison, on the other hand, stood immobile by the open door, his hand still on the doorknob. His eyes were hard and round and dark with anger, and a muscle jumped along his jawline.

“You … _asshole!_ ” he rasped between clenched teeth, “just _where_. The _HELL_. _Have you BEEN!!_ ”

Hardison’s fury suddenly percolated through Parker’s excitement at Eliot’s reappearance. She wriggled free of him and ignoring his hiss of pain, she fixed the hitter in an icy stare that would freeze molten lead. She snatched the spatula from Eliot’s hand before he could stop her and poked him in the ribs with it, leaving _ganache_ all over his clean flannel shirt.

“ _Why did you leave??_ ” she demanded, and poked him again.

“ _Dammit_ , _Parker!_ ” Eliot complained and wrested the spatula out of her fingers as gently as he could, and then he tried to wipe the smeared _ganache_ off his shirt. He failed miserably and realised he would have to change his shirt, so he carefully unbuttoned it and eased it off his stiff and achy torso. As he rolled it up and dumped it on a stool for washing later, he heard Parker’s sob and he realised with a jolt that she could see the outline through the Henley of the light dressing over the partly-healed wound in his shoulder.

He turned back to his two friends and was surprised see the shock in their eyes. The anger was not so consuming anymore and all he could see was hurt and worry, and he once again felt a lurch of guilt. But his resolve hardened and his jaw set, and he grabbed the spatula out of Parker’s unresisting fingers.

“I’m doin’ fine, I’m back, an’ if you want to eat then get your sorry asses outta my way. Where’re Nate an’ Sophie?”

Hardison blinked as though awakening from catatonia and heard the waspish annoyance in Eliot’s voice which was now rich with his Oklahoma past, a telling indication of stress if ever there was one.

“Um …” the hacker began, but Parker flapped her hands, her gamin face full of anger mixed with confusion.

“No! NO, Eliot! You can’t just pretend like it never happened!!” she blurted, and tried to steal the spatula back, but Eliot held it out of her way and picked up the bowl of chocolatey goodness, intent on finishing off the rich, gooey cake he had made especially for the little thief. “Why didn’t you stay?? You were _shot!!_ ” she continued, and not knowing what to do with her hands she used both of them to poke Eliot. _Hard_.

“OW!!” he yelped and almost dropped both bowl and spatula as her fingers dug into his bad shoulder. He took a step back away from her but she followed him, fingers poised for another poke, but she realised then he was hurting and her eyes brimmed with tears.

“You left us. Eliot! You were _shot_ and you _left_ us! I thought you’d died!”

Hardison chewed the inside of his cheek and shook his head, the fury in him crawling, pricking underneath his sternum, but now he knew he had it under control.

“No, babe, I _told_ you. I checked. And checked again … and again, _and again_ … an’ I knew the moron was still alive. Dumbass!” he added, glaring at Eliot, who placed the bowl on the quartz beside the half-frosted cake, resting the spatula inside it.

He glanced at the chicken dish resting in its heavy cast-iron casserole on a quilted pad and opened the oven door, slid on an oven glove and brought out a pan full of perfectly-roasted herby vegetables. It hurt him to do so but he managed, and limped over to the large table set with five places.

“I’ll finish the cake an’ then we’ll eat. I take it Nate an’ Soph will turn up when they’re ready,” he continued and made his way back to the work surface and his _ganache_. He ignored Parker and Hardison and bent to his task, carefully smoothing the last few dollops of chocolate heaven onto the rich, fudgy cake.

Hardison and Parker didn’t move an inch.

Eliot finished his chore, and straightened.

“C’mon. I spent damn’ near all afternoon making this friggin’ meal, so wake up, grab some wine glasses an’ we’ll eat.”

The three of them stared at one another.

Eliot pulled the dish-towel from his shoulder and curled his upper lip. It was obvious these two idiots weren’t going to let him off lightly. He took a deep, noisily impatient breath and made his way over to the wine he had chosen, a spicy Australian Merlot he had bought before heading onto the ‘plane at Darwin.

As he eased the cork from the bottle, he thought about the difficult goodbyes at Tennant Creek, Jo and Soapy hugging him as tight as they dared, both of them sniveling and sad. He remembered cajoling Mike Vance into taking him to The Puddock’s Rest to return Geordie and Ginger’s steel flask and handing over a bag of Effie’s lamingtons as a thank-you. He had smiled at Vance as he ate one of Eliot’s two slices of pecan pie, and the look of bliss on the big soldier’s face as they sat opposite one another on the big military transport ‘plane had warmed Eliot’s weary heart.

He took a sniff of the cork and turned back to Hardison and Parker. They hadn’t moved.

“This is good wine an’ the food’s gonna get cold, so don’t you screw me around, ‘cause my leg hurts! Eat!”

Parker’s watery eyes fluttered and she let out a short, hoarse noise.

“You got _shot!!_ ” she said as though repeating the words made the fact easier to bear, and then she sat down, shifting the chair slightly as she did so, the legs scraping the floor and the screech making Eliot wince.

Hardison finally clicked back into reality. Leaning over, he lifted one of the big linen napkins Eliot favoured and shook it out, and Eliot could see the man was still steaming with anger.

“Damn fool!” the hacker muttered even as he settled his tall frame into a chair, “couldn’t trust us to take care of you, huh! Had to disappear! Had to leave us worryin’ you’d bled to death in an alley, or … or … or holed up in some derelict shit-hole an’ up an’ died or –“

“But I didn’t, did I?” Eliot was busy serving portions of chicken onto plates as he answered, “I made it. You knew I would. I’ve been hurt a whole lot worse’n this an’ healed up just fine.” He placed a filled plate in front of each of his friends, and then sat down with his own food. He poured out wine, and then gestured at the delectable roast vegetables and the salad he had prepared earlier. “Help yourselves. I ain’t a damn waiter.”

Parker simmered a little as Hardison ladled more food onto her plate and then helped himself.

“Why did you leave us?” she demanded, “You know I could’ve looked after you –“

Eliot sipped his wine and shook his head.

“Nope. You couldn’t, Parker.” His eyebrows raised a little in appreciation. The wine was very good indeed. “I had a bullet in my leg. I needed someone to take it out, so I went someplace I could get fixed up an’ then laid low while I healed up.” He lifted a fork and took a bite of the Black Widow Chicken, and hummed a little at the flavour of the dark, luscious truffles. “Give me a couple of weeks an’ I’ll be good as new.”

Hardison lifted his knife and fork and slowly cut into the chicken, but that was as far as he got. He flung the utensils onto his plate with a clatter and stared at Eliot.

“You scared the _crap_ out of us, Eliot!! You know that, right?” he snapped, and Eliot could see Hardison’s hands were trembling.

He chewed some chicken thoughtfully, swallowed and nodded.

“Look … you know I don’t do hospitals. I _hate_ the bastards. But I needed a bullet removed, an’ you couldn’t have done it, Parker. So I went to someone who could. Okay?”

 _And I needed time to think_ , he reminded himself, even as he sipped more wine.

“So?” Parker interjected, still a little weepy, “we could have taken you to whoever it is and -“

“No, you couldn’t,” Eliot had to smile at her tenacity, “and before you ask, they need to be kept safe, an’ I couldn’t risk more people knowing about ‘em. And before you say anythin’ it’s nothin’ to do with trust. I trust you. _All_ of you. But we’ve had security issues before an’ I couldn’t risk it.”

He shifted in his chair. His wounds ached and he was very tired, but he was glad to be back. He hadn’t realised how much he needed to take care of his team. His people. _His family._

Hardison let out a grumpy sigh and served himself a portion of salad.

“Okay.” His voice was still that of a man with issues, but now the timbre had a hint of resignation to it. “Okay, Eliot. I get it. I really do. But man … don’t you _ever_ disappear like that again. You tell us if you gotta go someplace to get patched up. Just so we don’t …” Hardison had to stop before he told Eliot that he was loved and the dumb hick suddenly found out that they cared about him, but _hell_ , the man was a _real asshole_.

Eliot thought about it, sipped more wine, ate a tomato – one of those heirloom tomatoes he loved so much – and nodded.

“I can live with that,” he declared and ate more of his chicken.

“Are there sticky cherries in the cake?” Parker asked.

“Always, darlin’,” Eliot replied, knowing Parker loved glacé cherries in chocolate cake. It was obvious now that he was forgiven.

And as the three friends settled down to a fine meal and two of them worried about the other as they saw how tired and sore he was, Eliot thought about the decision he had made.

He would remain with the team until Nate and Sophie plucked up the courage to tell them they were leaving. After that, Eliot would settle into the new ‘normal’ … Hardison, Parker and Eliot Spencer against the world, helping people and making the bad guys pay. He would growl, complain and grouch, and Hardison would pull his chain and Parker would drive him crazy, and Eliot Spencer knew in his heart he wouldn’t have it any other way.

And as they ate and talked and drank fine wine, Eliot heard Alice Jakkamarra’s whisper in his ear on the day he left Wapanjara.

“Guess what, Eliot?” she had mouthed so no-one else could hear. “Charlie and me … we’re trying for a baby! And if it’s a boy, we’re going to call him Christopher Eliot Jakkamarra, because he’ll have the best uncle in the world!”

As Eliot listened to Hardison tell him about the old ladies Nate thought they could help, he knew he would return home to Wapanjara sooner rather than later to see his people, go walkabout on Gertie, mend fences and work cattle.

And maybe … _just maybe_ … one day in the future he would take his team back to Wapanjara with him … to the place where they could hear the magpies fluting in the almond stand, and where they could watch the brolgas dance as the sun set over the shimmering golden hills of his home.

_  
Finis_

* * *

 

_There's a place that I know where they all know me_   
_I gotta get back now to the ones who love me_   
_Wrap myself around you, never let you go_   
_There's nothin' in the world that feels like_   
_Comin’ home._

'Comin' Home', lyrics by Keith Urban; J. Rotem; Julia Michaels; Nicholle Galyon & Merle Haggard

 

 


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